The Northrend Chronicles
by Loremaster Loryn
Summary: Waking up a Death Knight, she can't remember Turning, and yet at the height of Arthas' reign she must fight with the Argent Crusade against the deadliest enemy of their times. Traversing Northrend, will she find that The Lich King is the Ultimate Evil, or as her memories return and past uncovered, will she find that the one she needs to be afraid of most is in fact her own being?
1. Prologue- The Transformation

I was so powerless to halt the oncoming darkness- it moved at a painfully slow pace, almost as if it was made of lead. Rattling my cage bars did nothing. Screaming for help did nothing. Frantically searching for anyone that could help me did lead me to see that the fight had turned into an ambush- Mort and Edmund were surrounded, and outnumbered, by bodies. Some were still; others were extremely animate- and dangerous. The darkness was only a few feet away now, still hell-bent on its path to my soul. The warlock was laughing throughout his incantation. I was crying, I was defeated.

"CERSAE!'' A voice cried. Snapping my head up, I saw Edmund jumping over a corpse, running as fast as he could in my direction. _He won't make it, he can't_. That darkness will have one of us and I'm going to make sure it's me. He was so fast- damn his long legs! I made my decision. Doing the most courageous and stupidest thing in my young life I cried for him to stop. It surprised him enough to make him hesitate in his running. A brief falter on his behalf changed the course of my entire life. I never blamed him for it. That split second was all I needed. The darkness folded through the cage bars, I could see nothing around it except the Chaos of its centre; The Evil that it beheld.

And it touched my heart.

First there was the pain. It wasn't a physical pain initially, but it manifested into that. My bones stiffened, my nerves were shot through, my blood ceased to flow. Air refused to enter my lungs no matter how much I gasped. My muscles refused to respond- I collapsed and lay there, unable to writhe in my own torment. Unable to scream. Unable to weep. Unable to die. Blackness clouded my vision, non-existent knives clawed at my skin, rot infested my senses and the last thing I heard were voices calling -for me, I think. I could feel each individual organ die- each desperately trying to continue working- to cling onto some last semblance of life that had been snuffed out. And then my heart took its last beat.

My brain died, but not my mind. Not my consciousness. They were very much intact, but only for a short time. I was aware, yet unaware, of everything around me. A dream state of anguish, a nightmare of being out of my own control. I was numb but locked all feeling away. Emotion was suppressed, yet not absent. Every grief and misery, all of the regret and remorse I felt magnified, each distinguishable to the point all of it choked and consumed me. I could not remember _happy_.

Time was non-existent. The tortuous agony wasn't limited to my body- it was of my very soul. I was being twain in all directions, the darkness threatening to encroach on me, to spill over. I went insane, of that I have no doubt, or drew so close the edge that sanity and insanity were indistinguishable. Maybe I crossed over many times, I don't know. No mortal could- should- withstand it. Death was welcomed whenever I sought it, yet It always evaded me. This frustration fuelled me further. I didn't cry, I couldn't. I had to fight, I had to push it away, I will _not_ let it…take…me…

And then it stopped. The agony, the crushing, the torture- lifted.

Just. Like. That.

I blinked. My vision swam as it reconnected with my consciousness. I felt- no, I_ sensed_ that I was dizzy. My faculties came to, I could barely believe this. Sour tasted on my tongue, foul filled my nostrils. Weight coursed throughout my being, noise echoed in my head. My revelation was cut short as the images I was seeing began to make sense.

There was a body on the ground in front of me. A man.

Blood dripped from my swo- my sword? It was in my hand. I looked to my other- it held its companion, also stained with red. I dropped them, stumbling backwards, my feet heavy. Plate- _plate?_ -boots met my gaze- what was going on?! Was I even … me? I twisted my neck to view the rest of my 'body', if it was indeed mine. I was armour-clad in dark iron. No, _no!_ This is not me! I have to get out of this- I clawed at my- this armour, in a vague attempt to tear it from my body. Failing at this, my-no, this _body's_- seemingly trained hands found leather straps and shakingly undid them. I threw each piece to the ground in disgust until nothing was left apart from my padding. My nightmare had not ended it had seemed. I panicked. Not knowing what else to do- I ran.

And ran. The body felt so foreign to me, so new. Stumbling like a child I travelled across- well, I don't know where. I ignored my environment. Not knowing where I was going. I didn't register calls or cries, I tore through rotted plant life, unaware of the blood dripping off of my body. Tripping over a dead branch left me face to face with a ghost- no, not a ghost. It was mirroring my movement. A _reflection._ Where I unconsciously expected dark, long hair, limp, lifeless …_grey_ hung in its wake. Healthy cheeks and a small mouth were now gaunt, sick and deathly, lips trembling. Brown eyes, wide and observant were no more- bright blue and frightened bore back into my own. I was no longer a girl, freshly turned eighteen springs. I was a nightmare.

_This is not ME!_

I eventually found peace from this un-reality when darkness found _me_. Laying in a pile of leaves, dead leaves, my eyesight, newly gained, started to blur. The physical act of _living,_ if that was what I was indeed doing, felt laboured and I began to feel death at my door, finally answering my call. I closed my eyes. Some organised noise…voices muffled their way into my subconscious.

I welcomed oblivion once more.

* * *

A/N- And so it begins. Just a small disclaimer- I do not own World of Warcraft or anything related to it, apart from my OCs and those OCs used with the permission of the players.

Brace yourself, this will be a _very long_ story.


	2. Chapter One- The First Day

_The day of the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel- the afternoon._

"Yes Sir, she's been quiet this whole time, not muttering so much as a sound. It's, well, it's highly unnerving, Sir." The report given by the guard on the captive was certainly a strange one. Plate clanked as they walked uphill.

"That's not the only thing…" muttered his companion. Indeed, the few that had seen her had certainly made comment about her appearance. It wasn't long before it was required that he be the one to interrogate her. The crowd of three walked up the stairs to the stone chapel, Acherus loomed overhead, a constant reminder of the events that transpired only a few hours ago.

The wooden doors were parted, revealing a dimly lit area, pews disregarded to the side and an old podium lying on the floor. A hastily built cage stood in the centre. It seemed spacious given it only contained one occupant, and as the three drew closer, it became apparent why she was on her own. There was no mistaking the sickly pallor and white, even if muck-ridden, hair, nor could it be missed that after a few seconds of observation, the tell-tale signs of life were missing- she was not breathing. This was a Death Knight.

She had given no indication that she had received company, staring bleakly downcast at the dirty floor garbed in little more than leg padding and a dirty, and quite frankly oversized, shirt. The guard on the left shifted slightly beside them. His discomfort was apparent and the Knight-Captain could understand why. Emitting no minute movement or sounds gave the impression of a lifeless doll, but given that the guards present had been among those to find the girl crying out and writhing in the mud far from the battlefield earlier on, it was evident why this stark contrast would be unnerving.

"Thank you, men, I will take it from here." She didn't move. He dismissed his companions out of sheer sympathy for their nerves. Everyone was still on edge following earlier today and the new truce between the Argent Dawn and newly founded 'Knights of the Ebon Blade' was still in question. It would take more than a couple of speeches to convince everyone of newly placed loyalties and this Death Knight would be no exception. Having _their kind_ around them was bound to put them at unrest given they were battling the very same soldiers only this morning. Hearing the doors close, he crouched down, armour creaking, reaching her eye level. She sat to the back of the cage, knees drawn up and face barely visible under a curtain of dirty white hair. Leaves and dried mud clung to the dire strands.

"I am Captain Firesworn, representative of the Argent Dawn to speak with you about your loyalties." She said nothing. He wasn't even sure she could hear him. "Will you speak and defend yourself from execution?" A thinly veiled threat to coax a reaction. The Knights who had pulled away from Arthas each made a show about being broken free from his will and declared loyalty to Morgraine. The elf wished to see if she would do the same under duress. No executions had taken place, chaos was being controlled following the battle and alliances forged between us and the new faction, however, any still claiming fealty to the Lich King would certainly not live long around here. The death knights knew this.

Still she did nothing. It daunted him slightly, who, while he may not admit it, was still shaken from the morning. He couldn't afford to be cowed by this. Standing up he quietly drew his sword, holding it briefly, the weight a comfort in his scarred hands. With one swift movement he banged it against the cage bars, the clanging echoing off of the stone walls in protest. The woman didn't even flinch. Was she even alive? Suppressing a sigh of exhaustion, he sheathed his blade and moved to unlock the cage. If she was waiting for a chance to escape, this would be that time. The lack of reaction, however small, was enough to prove that she was either dead, or unable to respond in a fashion that would grant her the strength to attempt an escape. He opened the cage door.

After a minute of no movement, he entered and ungraciously swept her up to standing by way of grabbing her upper arms, his dirt-caked armour groaning at the movements. She held her weight, proving she was indeed 'alive' but her head remained bowed. She was smaller and thicker than he expected for an elf, perhaps reaching chest height on himself. A quick sweep of her body revealed no obvious wounds or injuries. After a small shake and loudly talking in her direction, he concluded that mentally, she wasn't there. A shame.

Stepping backwards, he released her and to his surprise and relief, she didn't slump back into a pile on the floor. Her stature sagged but no other movement took place. In all of his time on the battlefield he had never quite seen a reaction like it. Shock, yes, terror, naturally, denial, practically a given, but this? This was something entirely different, and he had no idea what to do. Backing out of the cage, he locked the door and retreated from the church. It wasn't until he was outside that he realised just how cold it had been in there, and given that this was the height of summer, even the inside of the building shouldn't have felt so frigid.

Walking to the newly-erected healers' tents he passed a number of injuries and near-fatalities. The number of wounded was too many to fit into the make shift infirmary and the already-tired healers had to make do fixing and bandaging outside with them. Only the severely wounded were treated within, such was the organisation of the remedial team. A few people nodded in his direction, his higher rank and reputation earning him the respect of all who served under and beside him. Judging by the ease of the pace in which the menders and physicians moved, the majority of the dire cases had been dealt with. Good.

Reaching the biggest tent, a large green + dominating the sides, he entered and spoke with the Head of the healers. After being chastised for disturbing her work, he left with a promise that she would send two of her best to see to the strange prisoner currently residing in the chapel uphill. They would also provide a thick blanket and food and water to her while she was confined. Pleased with this result he returned to his own tent area to complete plans with the other Commanding Officers regarding the current situation and how to deal with the new information currently flooding their way via the Death Knights.

Morgraine and Highlord Fordring were currently standing far apart from the makeshift camp. They were deep in conversation, though champions of both factions stood nearby, in case anything should break out. This new truce was certainly tentative and placed a small dampener of the victory for The Dawn. Trusting his ultimate superior to do what was right for the people he made his way to the canvas sheltering a table littered with parchments and maps, with three others scribbling away. Rubbing his eyes with one hand, he braced himself for the mountain of paperwork no doubt headed his own way, starting with the roster and death tolls gained today.

It wasn't until dark, when fires lit the campsite and people milled and slept, weary from the fight that peace seemed truly possible. Even though on edge from the fortress floating above, the looming threat was dimmed by the alliance forged this day, allowing everyone to relax and rest. So when screams emitted from the echoes of the halls making up the chapel, that already fragile peace was shattered once more.

Having not slept, he was first into action to reach and thrust open the doors, the light of one- no, two- torches littered on the ground took a moment to adjust to. The sight was not one he expected. A man, human, was backed into a corner on the far side and his dwarven companion was face down on the floor, weeping. Their smocks identified them as the two healers requested-priests in fact, but that wasn't the most obvious thing in this scene. It was that the woman had looked up sharply at his entrance, scurried to the back of the cage and shielded herself with her arms. It was the most movement he had seen of her and the most shocking thing wasn't this transformation of her apparent consciousness, it was the terrified look in her lifeless white eyes as she had lay her gaze on him.

Three others arrived and immediately sprang into action, two headed toward the distraught men and a third cried out in rage aiming a crossbow for the cage. Before the Captain could issue an order, the wire twanged and the bolt plunged straight into her chest. He grabbed the weapon from his subordinate and ordered for him to stand down and get outside, shoving him hard in the meanwhile. This was too small a place for violence and he acted without precedent. Throwing the bow to the side he ran to the cage and hurriedly unlocked it. Surveying the wound he saw no blood, but her look of disbelief was evident as she stared at the foreign object protruding from her body. He swore. He may not have known what had occurred here, but if she died while under Dawn custody until her loyalties were confirmed, that most certainly wouldn't go down well with the Ebon Blade. Even more so if she was in fact sworn to them now. He was halfway to picking her up and running to the infirmary when she did something unheard of- she reached and pulled the arrow straight out of her body. The elf beside her stared in shock. No blood, no tissue or muscle was attached to the arrowhead. It was clean and undamaged, at least until she threw it on the floor. All he could do was gape.

The sobbing healers were lead out of the church, no indication given by any of the three about what had occurred previous to the others' arrival, though the later report stated that no physical injuries were detected. The woman, or girl, she seemed rather young, despite her haunted expression, adamantly refused to leave the cage, ushering out anyone who came in it and sitting stubbornly on the floor. It was the second bizarre thing to happen in such a short period of time

* * *

I saw faces. Young faces, old and wrinkled ones, others lined with creases of hard work and labour. A variety of races, skin tones, ages… they kept flashing in my mind's eye. All of them had one thing in common. Each expression on every man, woman and child was pure terror. And all the eyes would be transfixed on my gaze.

Each time I closed her eyes they were there. Haunting me…scaring me. Rest refused to come and even sheer exhaustion was no escape. I didn't know these faces yet I remembered them vividly. There were numerous people, far too many to count. And they were all staring deep into the very recesses of my soul. I slowly lost my mind.

I heard the screams yet I didn't listen to them. Echoes in the back of my mind, begging, daring and challenging. Always flashes of images, never anything long or real. Always ending in sprays and showers of red.

The vague sense of moving bothered me but I didn't register why or how. The images were coming in quick succession- faster than anything I had experienced before. I couldn't keep up with the jumbled mess. My own mind held me trapped and I had no way out.

Until now.

Waking up brought a little illumination into my eyes, cold to my skin and damp in my mouth. Screams reached my ears. It took a short while for my head to catch up to what I was seeing, and even then I couldn't be sure I wasn't hallucinating. Two people…men… were backing away from me, crying out and stumbling backwards, their fear-filled eyes trained in my direction. At me. It wasn't unlike everything I had witnessed in my own mind, except these were solid and very, very real.

A door was blown wide and a large column of light poured through, my arms threw up by instinct to shield from this, almost as if it burned rather than blinded. Calls, shouts and cries all overwhelmed my head and I couldn't even think straight. It wasn't until a hard _thunk!_ knocked me further into what appeared to be a cage did I gather my senses. I reached down and did the only thing that seemed appropriate. I pulled the offending object straight from my body and neatly examined it. Something…wasn't right with it, but no finger could I place on the wrongness of what I was looking at. A feeling of _ill_ slowly ebbed at my mind but I ignored it. I held peace for only a moment.

And then it hit me. The arrow fell from my hand.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed but no amount of coaxing was going to get me to move, I was not going to leave this confinement _by The Light_. My revelation of horror was enough to wake my mind up enough to realise that I couldn't leave this cage for the sake of the people around me.

I was a monster, and they didn't understand that. There was no evidence of a wound on that arrow or on me where it had pierced. Blood should have dripped from the tip, beat unevenly from my own chest and I should have faded slowly. But I didn't and it was for one horrific, despicable reason.

I was dead, and I was dangerous.


	3. Chapter Two- Undisciplined

_The day following the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel_

"I can see why you were so hard to defeat. That's quite an advantage, a gift almost, to have on the battlefield- to be undying." He admired, eyeing the small scar visible below her collarbone. Amazing how it had healed so quickly, or at all, even.

Koltira spat in disbelief at him. "No, not a gift. A curse, a torment." He drew level to the Captain.

Captain Firesworn stood straighter next to the Death Knight. They both idly examined the slip of a girl languidly sitting in the cage. She didn't appear to register their presences.

"She refuses food, water, aid…we thought if you knew her and can vouch for her then you can possibly help her" he offered, gesturing with a calloused hand.

"I recognise her but cannot vouch for her current alliance. I would very much hazard a guess but why take the risk." Koltira drawled. His cold gaze was resting the girl's face. "It is amusing though how you would now take our word for her loyalties when you are unsure as to our own." Firesworn couldn't argue that. Deathweaver had been called following last night's events as a gesture of good will and faith. As former Lieutenant to the Lich King, he would have had most responsibility over the initiates so it made the most sense for him to come and offer some insight. Leaving the Command tent earlier they had received a variety of looks and expressions walking through the camp side by side to the Church.

They were both tall with Blood Elven features, but one was of Winter and the other of Autumn, causing quite a contrast in the bleak stone building. And both men regarded the colourless figure unsure of what to do or how to help. Or at least one of them was worrying about her welfare.

"Do you know who she is at least?" A name, even if temporary would be useful.

"Yes, I do. This is The Hacker, highly skilled in swordcraft and axe wielding. Too small for the larger weapons, but she dual-wields either or quite nicely. Undisciplined still, though I see. A pity- she had promise." He sounded bored.

Firesworn felt his own blood drain from his face. Koltira spoke with such indifference he couldn't be sure he was joking or not. Something told Firesworn in this man's demeanour that he didn't jest. _The Hacker_ was not unheard of in the Argent Dawn circles. Many Death Knights earned such gruesome names, he didn't want to dwell on the origins of _Deathweaver _for instance_,_ through reputation and to find that The Hacker was…this _girl_, he almost felt sick.

"I do not know her original name." Koltira finally offered. Firesworn realised he must have been silent too long, prompting the Lieutenant to offer up further information. "I do not know her family name either, such formalities mean little in our… _line of work_, shall we say. She came to our ranks over a year ago- Razuvius was very happy to send us that particular batch of initiates back when he was still haunting Naxxramas. I think, however only nine of them survived to progress further at Acherus." The Lieutenant distorted his features at the mention of Razuvius, but made no more of it.

"Out of how many?" The Elf couldn't stop himself from asking. His professionalism slipped and for this Koltira levelled his blue-flamed eyes to the Captain.

"Forty-six, in that particular group." It didn't need to be said what happened to the thirty-seven that had not made it. Rotting fleshless corpses piled high at the pyre pits away from the camp gave evidence to that. Now he knew where their 'supply' of Scourge came from. Koltira made to turn to leave, business here evidently finished in his opinion.

"Wait, if you please. What did you mean 'undisciplined'?"

He paused in his step and regarded the girl once more, raising a long white eyebrow.

"Her whole image is neutral. Blank, unattached." Her hair was white as dirtied snow and her skin was certainly pale, yes. Perhaps the Death Knight could see something he couldn't. A hidden aura, perhaps. The Death Knight considered the Captain a moment and proceeded further. "When you discipline under Acherus tutelage you will branch into one of the three combat fields. I am skilled in Frost-based combat." That…made a little sense. He had seen Koltira on the battlefield not a day ago and his actions were indeed harsh winters and blizzards personified. Deadly, cold and ice merged together to create a fatal man. It was now, upon reflection, that Firesworn noticed the blue tinge to his hair and face. The sunrise peaking in the patterned windows created false warmth in the church that Koltira clearly stood apart from, highlighting the cold appearance.

"I see. And now that Acherus is no longer under The Lich King's Command she can no longer train in a specific discipline? Is that why she has no more promise, as you say?"

"No." He paused, raking his eyes across her face from over his shoulder. "She has regained a glimmer of her humanity, and for that, she cannot specialise." With that he turned heel and walked out into the sunlight, a harsh stride paving his way, concluding their talk.

To say that Ryndan Firesworn was easily confused would be a lie, however, as the Ebon Blade representative effectively swept out of his view he began to question how true that might be. _She has regained a glimmer of her humanity. _This statement made him quake internally. What do they go through to train for Arthas? He couldn't help but wonder why this _girl_ sought to join his undead legions. And she succeeded.

It was only as he went to guess her age that he realised that as much as he was staring at her, but she was also _staring back_. Years of military training made him withhold the flinch that threatened under her penetrating gaze. Neither spoke and neither moved. A stalemate was silently made and no one pushed forward in fear of breaking this tense truce. It was the most alive she had seemed in a non-terrified capacity. She seemed …_there._

"Sir! Field Marshal Heron requests your presence at once!" a soldier had broken the reverie by coming to halt right at the open doors. Ryndan barked a response and glancing once more at the prisoner, the sunlight moving over the cage through broken windows, he made a decision. He opened the cage grate and walked away.

* * *

_Has no more promise….undisciplined….humanity…_

That man…that Knight. Deathweaver, was his name. He seemed familiar. He was very serious. Deathweaver never lied or admitted false truths. I don't know how I knew, I just did. He was straight to the point every time. Speaking was barely worth doing unless it was highly constructive, critical or fact-altering. It was his way. He almost made me sound… useless. He knew I could hear every word spoken in front of me, and meeting his eyes when he said I had a glimmer of humanity bore witness to that fact. Like he was trying to drive that particular statement into me.

And now I stare out of an open, unguarded grate. There were no guards, no watchers or keepers. Whatever had happened when I woke the previous night made them think it was for the best no one stayed near me. I happened to agree with them, personally. That man…who held the keys. Why did he do it? His face was recognisable from last night, I was sure. I barely took in any information at the time but having not slept, having been unable to physically sleep, gave my mind the time to process things. That elf certainly was memorable. Standing next to Deathweaver was like a beacon of warm fire, melting away the ice and cold. Metaphorically speaking anyway, right now I could feel nothing.

He left the cage open. Whatever his stunt was, he was showing some form of trust on my part. He seemed to take the Lieutenant's words as fact and made a decision from that. Either that or it was some form of trap. What do I do now?

* * *

Captain Ryndan Firesworn pulled off his boots with great effort, tossing his cloak to one side and collapsed onto one of the two cots occupying this pathetic excuse for even a hastily made tent. He didn't complain however, given that it was the first time he'd been able to stop since the battle yesterday. His armour had been discarded the previous day, laying in a small heap to the foot of the cot, donning his mail in favour for the rest of his work, but without the weight of either bearing down on his exhausted form now he felt as light as a feather. Even though his body protested the movement, he shifted into a more comfortable position and threw his arm over his eyes in an attempt to hide from the brightened canvas of the tent. He was finally off-duty and even though it was midday, he was determined to catch some sleep. Finally…

"You snore like a pig in slop. And you smell like one too."

It would appear sleep would yet evade him. "How would you know what pigs smelled like?" Ryndan grumbled. A hollow chuckle was his reply.

"Now, now Firesworn. I simply heard you're having some fun with a new piece of meat in the church, you sordid man. Here I thought you took vows of charity or whatever." Ryndan didn't even open his eyes. He was almost tempted to drift off to sleep and see if ignoring him might work. Just. This. Once. After a few seconds of saying nothing, he thought he'd gotten away with it, maybe his company had left him alone-

"What are you doing!?" A large object had landed on his face most unceremoniously and Ryndan's battle reflexes shot him to his feet in preparation to retaliate. The Undead man he currently had gripped by the freshly-washed shirt didn't even flinch.

"My, my, testy this morning, aren't we?" the attacker drawled. Ryndan sighed and relieved his grip, dropping his friend to his feet. It had happened so quickly that the Captain hadn't even registered that the object had been a pathetic-excuse-for-a-pillow, and that he had hoisted his assailant in the air was close to smashing the face in of his tent-partner, the Baron Walden.

"You're such a fool. I would be tempted to say you had a death wish on you." At this, Walden barked a harsh laugh. Collapsing back onto the bed Ryndan enquired why he had been so rudely awoken.

"Like I said, I heard you were interrogating some prisoner up in the chapel and I wanted the gossip." He grinned widely, revealing a mostly-full set of teeth…even if they were very yellow and gumless. His scraggle of dark hair was pulled into a hair-tie at the base of his skull, and combined with his high-quality clothing, he was probably the most presentable looking in the camp. He should have been surprised, or angry. Annoyed even would have covered it but Ryndan had known this man too long to even waste the energy to get bothered by it. Walden did what he wanted and when he wanted. Mostly. Even if it disturbed others. The bastard.

"Yes, the Death Knight girl." He could see her face so clearly- it was so pale and plain, with blind-looking eyes staring at him. "She's…unusual. Doesn't say a word. She still refuses food and water. "

"What would a Death Knight do with such commodities, pray tell? Pretty up the church with food art?'' the Baron cut in, seemingly amused. Ryndan was too tired to play along with him.

"Eurgh, just be quiet." Another laugh. He's too easily amused. When it became evident he wasn't going to elaborate what he meant, Ryndan moved on.

"I've released her, it's up to her what she does now- run, join us, fight, go renegade. I reported this back to my Field Marshal. He says three Death Knights so far were mutually agreed by the Ebon Blade and the Dawn to be executed." He drew a face in disgust. They still freely admit fealty to the Lich King, the fools- ranting about being hailed from the dead to serve their master. "Their executions will be held after the Mourning Services tomorrow away from the camp. If anymore runaways are found…they'll be questioned in the same manner I suppose." He remembered hearing when she, the first one, was caught and thrown in that cage until she calmed. Now she was _too_ calm. The ones who had fled and caught so far were being held in Acherus for the time being. Separately.

"Deathweaver says he doesn't know this girl's loyalties but he gave no indication that she would go to Arthas." He paused, thinking. In fact, Deathweaver hadn't really said she'd join the Ebon Blade either, but there was something in her eyes, that small _glimmer of humanity _that he had mentioned, that just made him want to believe that she would do right by her freedom. There was a huge risk in just letting her walk, he knew that. The Field Marshal had questioned his actions but The Light had given him this feeling and so he went with it, praying it was right.

"Is she cute?" Walden said a little too innocently. Ryndan scoffed.

"She's a Blood Elf like me, or at least of High Elven blood, I can't tell with her skin and eyes at the moment, not that it matters. Though her physique…" When he had held her up yesterday to check her mental faculties, her body shape and physical attributes were a little out of proportion, he had noted. "I am unsure, there are just some things about her that seem disproportionate for an Elf. And she's so young! Barely older than my youngest sister, I'd wager." That was a fact that disturbed him the most. At twenty-seven summers old, Ryndan Firesworn was one of the younger Captains in the Argent Dawn Campaign. He had seen some gruesome and terrible things, but even something as small as an age of a soldier, a child-soldier still disturbed him. The knowledge had broken through the barrier he had drawn in his mind to protect him from these horrors. He had kept the information that she was _The Hacker_ to himself, not even telling his superior. He wanted to talk to her personally about it, if she ever woke up from her bizarre frame of mind. Somehow, if that information became known, her blood would be called for and he couldn't be the reason for the ultimate death of a child, death knight or not. The Light would see to justice, if justice was to be served, he comforted himself with.

He became lost in thought, so much so that he didn't notice Walden leave the tent in his quiet manner or that he eventually fell asleep, staring at the tent carapace and thinking of haunted eyes in a field of white.


	4. Chapter Three- Reunited

_One day after the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel- Night time. _

It was night, cold and damp in the Plaguelands. How aptly named they were. Captain Firesworn had checked on the healers' tents, noting the two on duty drinking cups of bland tea, taken note of supplies, done the same with the kitchen area and had moved on to the recently set up forges. For all that war is bloody, the administration also needs doing also. And given the chaos of the newly made camp, they had to make sure they could support the current populace. He had sent a soldier to check the church and he had reported back that it was emptied. He was only a little surprised.

Walden had passed him on his rounds and reported that he too had went to see the girl but found that the church was no longer occupied. Claiming boredom, the rogue followed Ryndan around trying to unnecessarily scare people unused to working alongside Forsaken. There were still a few up this time of night, sitting around campfires on boxes, crates and other makeshift seats. Some laughed and joked, others were more sombre, mourning their losses from the attack, cradling their wounds. The roster was still unfinished, a few names missing and unaccounted for. Limbs were occasionally found while clearing the local area during reconnaissance but who they belonged to was a mystery.

"Oh, by the way, it's Vows of _Chastity_ and they are normally taken by the Brotherhoods and Sisterhoods, not Argent Dawn Paladins." Ryndan recited. Walden cocked his skull curiously- "What, in the name of the Lady, are you talking about, man?"

"You said I took Vows of 'Charity' in relation to the meeting of one young Death Knight and I'm now correcting you." He stated matter-of-factly. He marked off some more supplies, flipping through a couple of pages to total his numbers. Walden shook his head.

" You're so …you're such a nitpicker. Bloody Paladins…" Walden kicked a stone into a pile of broken armour, the resulting clatter startling nearby people. "By the way- you said the executions are tomorrow?"

"Aye, the Service is tomorrow after breakfast and then the executions are to be privately held in the Noxious Glade following" he ticked off another crate of goods and marked what needed restocking. He frowned, these tallies were lower than he'd like. "A few higher-ups from both groups are to attend."

"Yourself included?" The Baron was a gossipmonger and usually found out one way or another what was going on. Knowing this, Ryndan just felt it best to tell the former-man up straight.

"No, I'm going to be seeing to the …_aftermath_ of the cremations and blessings will be led by the good Father Timyr." He checked off another stack of goods and moved to the next, undead in tow. Ryndan slowly rotated his neck, it feeling stiff.

"Sad business that. I wanted to be cremated…" He sounded so wistful, a small glimpse at the human he had been before. "I might go witness the killings, give myself some satisfaction at the bastar-oh!" Looking up from his administrative journal, Ryndan was greeted with the sight of Walden barely holding his jaw from falling off, the skin stretching dangerously thin over it. A few of the nearby worksmiths had already shuffled away but at this two of them had jumped and staggered backwards.

"_That_ is disgusting. Go see the blacksmiths and ask them to stick a nail in it." A grotesque click was heard and he grimaced, concentrating on his tallies silently glad he had forgone dinner in favour of sleep.

"You're hilarious," another click. "Tell you what, why don't I go ask the blacksmiths to shove a nail up your ar-." He stopped gesturing exactly where the nail was going and froze, hands falling to his sides.

Frowning, Ryndan looked to his companion to see what was wrong. He was staring beyond Ryndan's shoulder, and he was clearly in shock. Curiosity overwhelming him, the Elf turned, following his gaze and dropped his tally-board. The image presented to him made his body freeze.

It was the Death Knight girl. And she was covered in blood. The dark colour was a sharp contrast to her pale form which was already clothed in neutral tones. The blood didn't appear to be her own, it was from whatever she had hanging across her back. _Anar'alah_, it was a body.

A small crowd gathered near her, she stood near the edge of the camp, having just arrived. She ignored the growing group and was staring at Ryndan, uncaring of the dripping burden. No, she was staring _behind_ him.

"Mort…" was all she said.

* * *

The healers' tents were well lit with lanterns, spacious and now, mostly empty. They had truly out done themselves during and after the battle, tirelessly working to save each and every individual. Even a couple of Death Knights had been ushered in here by Talia to clean up a stump or a wound tidied. She knew it wasn't necessary, but she it was how she diverted her mind from dwelling on what she had witnessed come through those tent flaps. Overnight patients were in the Recovery tent across from the main hospital tent, she had not long gone in and done the rounds, all safe and well. She had happily sat down with her mug of tea, re-plaiting her grey-streaked hair, chatting idly with Lorik. This was soon interrupted by a small party led by young Ryndan Firesworn carrying a large bundle and closely followed by the Baron William Walden. And now she was looking at the mutilated body of the-now-former Corporal Mason, and his murderer.

The girl stood in a corner of the tent away from the group. Baron Walden was collapsed on a wooden stool looking in her direction while she avoided his- well, everyone's gaze. Young Ryndan Firesworn was frowning down at the corpse and Lorik was bustling about with water and bandages to start cleaning him up in preparation for his funeral. The large Draenei was offering the only movement and source of noise in the tense silence of the tent.

Talia was astounded when Dan had carried the body in with his entourage of two following slowly in his wake- her eyes going straight to the blood. She immediately recognised the boy as dead, quashing the feeling of dread whenever she saw a deceased body, and went to see to the girl only to conclude that she was unharmed and simply retrieving Mason.

"What is goin' oan here." She enunciated in her thick Dwarven accent, it was one of the things that endeared Ryndan to her, she was so motherly and fierce. Even that couldn't calm him right now, though it was the only thing stopping him from killing the death knight where she stood. Or harming her at least. Brutally.

"It would seem that our _guest_ was the …instigator of this horrid incident and sought to retrieve him for proper burial." His voice was quiet and very controlled. Not a few minutes before, the girl had quickly, and quietly, explained that she had recalled her 'Re-awakening' and had set out to do right by the man she had unknowingly slaughtered. Ryndan was barely containing his anger and rage. Her voice wasn't soft as a girl's should be, it was coarse and broken, like it had rusted, almost. Her accent was almost indistinguishable through her staggered Common. He had moved forward, she gingerly handed over the body, Ryndan slumping over the weight he now bore not even stopping to think about how she carried a fully grown man and making straight for the healers' tent, not knowing his comrade had already passed.

"Right, well. Thank you dear, for retrieving our fallen brother." She was far too kind, nodding in the direction of the slayer. He didn't look, but he sensed her stiffen. Lorik moved onto tenderly cleaning Mason and Talia gestured for the group to move further down the tent. Nearer _her. _Drawing a makeshift curtain around the bed, giving the vestige of some privacy for the deceased, she sat at the furthermost bed, legs dangling, looking to each of the people now sitting in silence. It was soon broken, and not by who she thought might be the one to break it.

"Cers…Cersae…" Walden's voice was pleading and quiet. He leaned forward on his stool in the direction of his objective, hoping to garner her attention his way. Ryndan's long ears perked, not having missed the mention of her name. It worked, her eyes flickered to the Forsaken, expression heartbroken and grievous. Ryndan had never seen a Death Knight show remorse before. Their expressions ranged from bloodthirsty to arrogant to cold and calculating, never a morsel of human warmth shining through. Until now. He felt no pity.

"Little Girl, please talk to me. It is you, isn't it?" Her brow furrowed further and she gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

"My dear Baron, you know this young lady?" Talia was shocked and looked back and forth between the undead and the girl. Their gazes were so focussed on each other, Ryndan doubted either of them heard her, but he did.

"Walden! How do you know her?" His tone was harsh and commanding, anger seeping through gritted teeth. Any pity he held for her from the previous day vanished with this one admittance of murder. Walden managed to tear his eyes- what was left of them- from her shadowed form in the corner to glance at him.  
"Aye, I know her. We met by way of a mutual friend, when she was…human." He spoke the last word a whisper and ground his teeth. Ryndan supposed he meant before she pledged her life and soul to the tyrant now plaguing Azeroth. How long ago was that? Koltira had said she joined the Acherus branch over a year ago, how long did she train in death-dealing before then? His mood grew darker as time went by. Sparing a glance at her, he saw that her eyes were wide and unfocussed.

"By the Light…_Edmund."_ Her voice was sharp and cracked, ugly, almost. She had stood up straighter, walking further into the light. The dead blood painting her was thrown into sharp relief against the pale backdrop of the tent. Walden nodded.  
"Aye lass, he searched high and low for you, my dear." Ryndan had never heard his dead friend speak so… tenderly, so kindly to someone. He was sarcastic and upfront, conniving and insulting. This was not the Walden he knew. This was Ryndan talking to his sisters, Tal talking to her friends and loved ones. This was Walden talking to someone he truly cared for. Frowning, the Blood Elf felt his anger fade a fraction.

"Where- where is he?" Talia and Ryndan had evidently been forgotten about, simple acting as onlookers to this reunion. Walden rose and slowly took a step towards her.

"Little Girl, I haven't seen him in a long time. He was distraught after…after what happened to you. He set off- I helped as much as I could, trying to listen out for a whisper of your whereabouts, but soon, the society…my people, they needed me to go back on duty." Talia's eyes were shining at the height of emotion. Ryndan threw a quick glance to the curtained off cot and felt it impossible in his callous state to see how these two dead beings could express such feelings. However, there was something odd about this whole situation.

"What do you mean '_what happened to you'_, Walden. What _happened_ to this girl?" he demanded, this teary reconciliation was clawing at his temper, his patience more fragile than glass.

"I was there…she was ..oh dammit!" He nearly crumpled, Talia jumping as if to catch him. He caught himself. "She was _forced_ to become what she is now." He looked as distressed as he could with his partially rotted features. Ryndan was sure his friend would cry if able to, so thick was he with emotion at the presence of this girl. She nodded twice at this absentmindedly.

"Forced? In what manner? How is one forced into servitude?"

"No, what happened to Edmund, Mort, I need you to tell me." The girl was looking hard and straight at Walden, or Mort as she seemed to refer to him, silently reasoning that her question was more important. Her voice was stronger now. She seemed older than the estimated sixteen or so he had her down as. Walden didn't even look conflicted at the two lines of questioning- he chose her.

"Cers, I haven't seen him in a long time, he left for the North, finding a small hint that newly –turned …_knights_ were taken there. After- after Naxxramas was moved he followed it. He was so sure you were in there." Ryndan briefly recalled hearing the reports of that giant fortress travelling the atlas north, causing panic to all those it passed over. Rumour had it that it was more terrifying a presence than Acherus currently shading the camp. When had it moved? He couldn't recall right now. He watched as her composure briefly faltered, a frown furrowing her brow and a whispered 'Naxxramas' reached his long ears. She soon recovered to refocus sharply on Walden.

"Where. Is. He." Each word almost seemed like a threat. Ryndan rested one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Cersae, you must understand, it's been some time since you were turned, I've lost track of his whereabouts despite my best efforts. I last heard of him a year and a half ago, making way to travel to the north." The girl faltered.

She was stunned, mouth agape and shock teeming from her body.

"A..year…and a half? Mort, it can't- no! It _can't_ have been. I …it feels like, no I did! I saw you only a few days ago." Her voice trailed off, face dressed in disbelief and mortification. Walden regarded her sadly, pitifully, his stance slumped in defeat.

"Oh my dear Little Girl." He slowly stepped towards her, entering near her personal space. Ryndan's mind was churning, something at the back of his mind nagging him. Walden gingerly placed two long, skeletal hands on her slim shoulders. The Elf couldn't place his finger on it. Her eyes were wide and trusting, but not innocent, staring upwards at Walden. Ryndan involuntarily gasped- Naxxramas had moved two years ago-

"You- well, you were turned over three years ago now."

She screamed.


	5. Chapter Four- Unable to Accept Reality

Ryndan swept out of the tent, not caring to hear anymore. He was still seething from the sheer audacity she had in retrieving someone she had murdered. He didn't care whether she remembered doing it or not, she still did it and she was still guilty of every other heinous crime she had committed in service, or so he told himself. Her reputation as _The Hacker_ was certainly a gruesome one, and seeing her covered in blood- one of his own comrades- solidified the image of her being a murderous Death Knight. He stalked past onlookers and curious hangers-by. They were whispering and pointing. The scene of a Death Knight walking into the camp with a dead body certainly wasn't going to be kept quiet any time soon. He set off to report to his Field Marshal- he would hear about it eventually, might as well get it over with.

Slowing as he reached one of the Officers tents, he spared a glance to the church up the hill and grimaced. Taking a deep breath in a poor effort to calm down, he announced his arrival and was invited in. He pulled the flap open and walked inside.

* * *

"A Death Knight…" I barely noticed how inaudible my own voice sounded.

"Aye, lass. It was one of the worst days of my un-life seeing you go through that."

My head was spinning from the intake of information, but thankfully the cots we sat on were keeping me from falling. Mort sat across from me, leaning on his knees and I stared simply at nothing, unable to accept my fate.

"I…killed a man. He was just there, when I a-awoke. I had no…I didn't even…He was just _dead_." The picture of his blood running down my swords, dripping mercilessly onto the earth was still vivid. My armour and weapons had still lain beside the man from where I had thrown them from my body when I searched him out earlier this evening. I had ignored them, my only objective to bring a small amount of peace to that poor soldier. Why we were so far from the main battle site fighting I just don't remember, I had told Mort as much. He just shook his head slightly and patted me awkwardly.

We were now alone in the tent, the Elven man who released me stormed out after my hysteria and the healers had left to do rounds in the other tents.

I was a Death Knight, I was told. I had no real concept of what those two words really meant. Turned against my will in some sadistic ritual. I didn't remember. I had seen my reflection a second time- Talia, the little dwarven woman, had ushered me to a wash basin and helped rinse all the blood and dirt from my hair, wiping my face and pressing clean clothes to me saying she would be back in a moment. The water didn't lie, even though I hoped it would. Asking Mort what my appearance used to be he had said 'Hair the colour of the earth and eyes as dark as his leather breeches'. Now my hair was white, faded and dull. My eyes were pale and emotionless. Echoes of horrors past seen within even if my own mind refused to divulge them to me. And I was a monster. I didn't notice my lack of breathing to begin with. I guess after three years my body became used to it.

"Three years…and all this time…I've become _this."_ I didn't even remember those years, making it all the more frustrating.

"Now now, m'dear, enough of that." Talia had arrived back in with a bowl of something steaming and some bread balanced on a wooden cup. She set it down on the bedside and sat next to Mort. Her hair was bright orange with streaks of grey and she had large green eyes. She swung her legs back and forth like a child on a swing. "You're going to eat up, rest for the night and we can discuss this all tomorrow. It's been a hard couple o' days fir all of us and the last thing we need is more agitation and anger." Nice as it was, her tone left no pause for argument, but that didn't stop me.

"How can you possibly be so kind to me knowing I'm responsible for that?" I swept my arm in way of gesture towards the closed off cot a few beds down. Talia levelled her wise gaze on me, my resolve was already fragile and crumbled a little further at this.

"You were evidently not in your right mind. I have spoken with some former death knights, those who are just as confused as you, and have come to the conclusion that some of you were possessed into entering the Undead Legion. There does appear to be a high number who entered willingly," She paused with a grimace, but pressed on regardless, "but a small handful, like you, has returned following the battle two days ago with memory loss." I was stunned, to say the least. I knew I hadn't entered willingly, flashes of the ritual would occasionally spark in my mind's eye, the images now making sense with Mort's description of my ordeal. And I know that I didn't want to do it. To know that others had also been forced into the same endless horror as me, I had no words. She continued, while fussing around beside me, "You are assured that you didn't enter willingly due to the testimony of our dear Baron, here," she smiled at him. He gave a crooked grin in return, a small pang of familiarity igniting inside me.

"It doesn't excuse what I did." I mumbled weakly, drawing my knees up. My despair was eating away at me. I had no idea what I had done, if anything else, beyond one murder, but there was a hollow inside of me with dark whispers echoing cruel things. Something told me I wouldn't not feel such a void within if I was not connected to darkness and cruelty in some way.

"Well, that's for you to come to terms with my dear, I personally, won't hold any actions against you while you were under the influence of external forces." She gave a small smile and gestured to the stew, now cooled down. I glanced at it. Even though I hadn't eaten the previous day or two, I still didn't feel hungry. Reasoning won out and suggested I try to eat something, perhaps regain my appetite in the process. Mort made a noise of protest but I ignored it and was soon dipping in some slightly stale bread, I ate a few spoonfuls, not caring that I had two onlookers. It tasted of nothing. My coordination was sloppy and fumbling. I barely managed four mouthfuls before my muscles heaved and I was on my hands and knees retching up all of my stomach contents. Talia was beside me, holding my hair and rubbing my back. I choked and finally heaved once more only for large, black _sludge _to force its way up my throat and onto the tent floor. I stared at it in horror, not caring that the aftertaste was disgusting. This looked like something from an old swamp, all rotted and coagulated. This had been inside my _body._

"Alright there, Little Girl, up we get." I was lifted to my feet with Mort's aid and walked away slowly from the pile of ooze and vomit. The food was still whole and intact, as I had just eaten it, now drowning in something utterly disgusting. "Aye Tal, I'll take her to a spare tent to rest." His voice sounded so far away.

"I think we'll bypass the food for now then, lass. I'm sorry, I thought maybe you would be able to..." Looking to Talia's sad eyes it took a moment to realise why she was apologising. I couldn't eat. I didn't breath. I hadn't aged according to Mort. Just like last night, looking at the arrow protruding from my chest, the startling revelation hit me with the force of a Kodo stampede. I was neither alive nor dead. I was in Limbo, Hell and a nightmare all at once, and there was nothing I could do to escape it.

* * *

_Two Days after the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel- Before Dawn._

Ryndan rubbed his hands across his face, exhaustion starting to set in once more. It was late into the night already, and having just finished giving the report to his Field Marshal ("Damned Death Knights, be better off without the beasts!") and made way to collapse into his cot. Instead he found Walden perched on it looking as sombre as a corpse could, head hanging low. Internally sighing, Ryndan parked on the opposite cot, the two sitting in amicable silence for a short while.

"She was so young. Just turned eighteen springs." The statement broke the quietude as subtlety as a cheese wire carves slices. Walden was lost in his own world- the Paladin Captain has indeed seen a few strange stupors that his friend occasionally fell into, but this seemed deeper and darker than any of the remorse-filled trances he had witnessed before. Ryndan remained quiet, allowing the rogue to vent his thoughts.

"I- we tried so hard to save her. But that…that _bastard_, that _monster_! What he did- oh! She just screamed…" He choked. "Now she's no longer the innocent young woman I knew." His clasped, bony hands were shaking violently. "Do you know, at one point during our search we almost wished her dead?" He lifted his broken face and stared at his friend. Ryndan didn't know what to say. His own heart broke at seeing someone close crumble right in front of him. The way Walden spoke about the girl…he was almost tempted to wash away this horrid image he had built up of her- of her just being a cold-blooded murderer. The only thing stopping him from doing that was the memory of a blood-soaked corpse, laying on clean sheets only a few tents up the hill.

"At least if she were dead, we would know she was better off than this hell!" He shouted the last word, voice cracking. Walden rarely got angry, preferring a calm, cocky demeanour. "And Edmund! He hasn't stopped searching. I don't even know where the poor bugger is to tell him."

"Who is this Edmund? You mentioned him before." He asked more gentle than intended. It was the first thought not fuelled by rage or hate, but genuine curiosity. This young woman's (for a quick calculation told him that she should be technically twenty-one springs now) history was certainly getting more and more interesting.

"Edmund was our mutual friend. He brought her up from…the south of the continent, to study with the Alchemists of the Undercity. She was-"

"She's an Alchemist?" Walden didn't seem bothered by the interrupt; he was just staring at a spot next to Ryndan.

"Aye, and a damned good one. The Society was _very_ interested in her, if I recall. Heh, she was so fierce! Such cheek!" If he could smile wholeheartedly, Ryndan knew Walden would be doing so. He seemed so proud of this woman. "I taught her how to wield a dagger, she was terrible at it. Took me weeks to get her grip correct and even then she was sloppy." He paused for a moment, lost in his own recollections. These mood swings were rare for Walden, he didn't often let any emotion get the better of him..

"She was in love with Edmund, you could see it leagues away. I wasn't even sure she knew, but she was. He was about your age or so when he brought her up, maybe younger. Cared for her a great deal, that much I do know. Whether he loved her back, I am unsure. After…what happened to her, he went berserk. Would have torn Azeroth in half to find her. Last I knew he went to the North, following that Damned Fortress, Naxxramas, the fool. Whether it's guilt, love or something else driving him, I don't know. I just wish I could tell him she was safe, even if cursed" he spat. "Then he could at least move on."

"And you?"

Walden lifted his head and stared right into Ryndan's very soul. "She was almost like the daughter I never had, Dan." Ryndan drew in a sharp breath. "I look at her, covered in blood and she's just so, so _tainted_. Her eyes are so vacant, lacking that fire I knew. She's in there, Dan, I know she is. She's just cursed, damn it! I just wish I could help her- I feel so useless!" Ryndan couldn't fathom why his friend had never mentioned this girl before; he had known the dead Baron for a few years now. All this time, he'd been suffering with this. Searching his taught, grey face in the filtered moonlight through the tent-flap, the Captain made a decision to lighten his friend's grief.

"Word to the wise, though it's unofficial yet, the Highlord is going to go ahead with moving the bulk of this taskforce to Northrend for an official assault on Arthas." He paused, thinking how much to say. Shrugging, he let out all he knew-"A small contingent will stay here to secure the Chapel, to reclaim the Plaguelands and restore the Former Lordaeron as much as possible, but Fordring thinks that with the Ebon Blade behind us now, as well as the forces from the Horde and the Alliance, then a successful assault may be plausible. Maybe with Arthas off of the throne…" Field Marshal Heron had confided this in him an hour ago, grey with exhaustion and unsure about the direction the Dawn was headed in. Ryndan had his own doubts, but they had to place their trust in the Highlord that he knew what he was doing. It was all they could do.

"You're saying I should go North?" the hope in his voice was not lost on the Paladin.

"Aye, I'm saying you should come North."


	6. Chapter Five- Bitter Truths

_Two Days after the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel- Before Dawn._

The attack took place a couple of hours before dawn. Swarming from the west, seemingly organised, hordes of corpses, dire creatures and monsters fell upon the makeshift camp at Lights Hope Chapel. Ryndan had barely slept, rising to his feet and donning his unpolished armour over unwashed padding to the sound of the Warning Calls. Sheathing his sword, he joined the gathering crowd to the entrance of the camp. A large, ragged mass was moving towards them and in the dark, they had the advantage. The Highlord was visible atop a stack of boxes, encouraging the men and women standing before him. All sorts of races- from small gnomes to towering trolls listened in with fierce attentiveness. The rabble of Scourge were getting louder, ever closer. Everyone was on edge, scarcely recovered from the fight days ago. Fordring was barely into his speech when the first clashes of blade-on-flesh was heard. Then the screams. At that, the crowds dissipated and war was on.

Ryndan charged forward to the frontlines, never cowing from the fight. His blade flashed like so many of his comrades' did in the scattered torchlight behind him. He caught glimpses of faces he recognised thrust in the sea of monstrosities assaulting them. Black blood and dirt painted the air as sword ripped through rotted flesh, as blades dismembered heads from shoulders, as claws tore open torsos to the sounds of agonising screams. He ducked and swerved, slicing his blade clean through dead bone and sinew. He grabbed a soldier off of the ground thrusting him behind, barking at him to get to the healers- the troll's forearm lay on the earth.

A grotesque bellow was heard and large, gruesome horrors carved paths wielding rusted axes, chains rattling at their limbs. Barely pausing to be disgusted, Ryndan made for the beasts, calling on The Light for aid in fighting the Scourge Plague assaulting his brethren. Walden was there, cutting in and out, daggers sharp-tipped and dripping in poisons. Keenly and deftly, he was slicing slowly at the slow beast's legs and arms until it was rendered useless. Ryndan drove his sword, his extension of his own being, straight into the chest of the nightmare and it dropped ungraciously, twitching a moment before belching its death. Meeting Walden's eyes, he gave a grateful nod and moved onto the next enemy. They were never-ending.

Sunrise drew nigh as the light behind the hills grew bright. The Scourge was dwindling down to the last few, the Argent Dawn also suffering its own casualties. Ryndan's legs were shaking as he plunged his blade into the back of a ghoul-fiend, the body dropping stone-dead at his feet, finally stilled. He tried to catch his breath, observing the scene around him. At the far outskirts of the battlefield, he had a large overview of the conclusion to the attack. The ground was littered with atrocities and friends alike. Bright tabards a gruesome contrast to the fetid presence of their attackers. His own tabard was spattered with blood, both his own and kinsmen. Pale skin and lifeless eyes searching the skies were all that remained of the fallen Ebon Blades who had rushed to the Dawn's aid from their fortress on high. Other Death Knights stood still as statues, observing the scene like him and his own companions. He swallowed back some bile. There seemed to be no more to kill, they had beaten them back-

His head hit the ground with such a force, Ryndan saw stars. Clutching his skull, he felt the point of a blade tip touch the back of his uncovered neck, his short brown hair matted with blood, leaving it exposed.

"Perfect, at least I'll get one of you before I die!" A hollow voice, reminiscent of those the Dawn now allied with. Glancing over his shoulder from his position on the ground, Ryndan bleary vision looked into the blue eyes of a man gone mad. It was a Death Knight. The blade was raised into the air. His own was now out of arms reach.

"Die you piece of filth!" Ryndan tried to roll away, but his body wouldn't listen. In that split moment he saw his sisters, his parents and friends all before him, crying. He heard the sword drawing closer, about to deliver his death blow.

"Argh!"

The sword didn't make contact- and Ryndan saw why- another person had jumped into the fray, knocking the night aside. He- no, _she-_ was lithe and fast, deadly and calculating. Her hands bore two swords of uneven length, gleaming in the newly-risen sunlight. Black blood flew high and arced overhead, cries of anguish as each cut went deeper and further into his body. Her white hair was gathered behind her head, but he knew only one person it could be. Her assault never wavered in its tempo. His screams grew to a crescendo. She was terrifying to witness.

And then she finished him off. Not even a coup-de-grace. She sliced him clean through the stomach and he collapsed to the floor, jerking unnaturally as his un-life faded. She watched on, her back to Ryndan, swords hanging casually from her small hands. He gasped for breath he could not draw, eyes wide and pleading, gagging on black liquid, frothing from his throat and mouth. She did nothing.

And then he died.

Bending down, she thrust her swords into his body and wiped her hands on his cloak. She turned to look at Ryndan- and he choked.

Her eyes were no longer the pale, blind-seeming orbs he had seen yesterday. These were the blue-tinged eyes of a Champion of Arthas. Her expression was stoic and calm, uncaring about the kill she had just made. She had saved his life and she thought nothing of it, more like she simply enjoyed the kill. She was transformed- this, _this_ was what the Dawn had fought only days ago. These cold, merciless, icy beings. They were uncaring or unfeeling about death. It was their nature and they were Death's hands.

She approached him, no- she went for something_ near_ him. It was an axe, a heavy dual-bladed axe, discarded by some unfortunate victim, no doubt. Picking it up with ease, the blade was soon swung in a gruesome curve straight through the deceased attacker. Another blow, to his leg, his arms, his chest, his face. Ryndan could do nothing but look on with morbid fascination and horror. Soon nothing but gore and bloodied innards lay in its wake-the outline of a corpse no longer distinguishable. The head lay feet away. The origins of her dubbed namesake were now clearly evident in a pool of carnage.

The offending weapon was unceremoniously dumped on the plagued terrain. And then she walked away.

* * *

"That better be the last fray we have, otherwise my healers will drop dead on their feet, the poor wee souls!" Tal was bustling about, her white smock tattered and splattered with all sorts. Ryndan cradled his head, it was still pounding from earlier. A healing draught had been administered and he was just waiting for it to take effect.

"Indeed, I do not think that even your tea can keep me awake for much longer." Lorik- the blue-skinned draenei had walked by the bed, carrying a box of what could be assumed to be medical supplies. His accent was thick and his words slurred with tiredness. Ryndan didn't blame him, he'd been on duty through the night as well, before the battle. Talia stopped her work and stood in front of him, her eyes level with his while he sat.

"Oh, you should know that the two healers I sent to see to the girl two nights ago, well, one of them is speaking now." Her face grew withdrawn; Ryndan didn't like that expression on her. "They peered into her mind, it would seem. Being Priests, I thought that the best course of action after what you described to me." She dropped her voice low, leaning in. "He rambles about horrifying and terrible things, Dan. Whatever they saw in her head, I dread to think what it was like for her to witness them. I'm a little glad she doesn't remember it." They looked at each other meaningfully, the weight of her words resting on his mind. He nodded, and in doing so, caught a sharp pain to the back of his head. He grasped his neck.

"Right you, off you go to bed and sleep that off. You're lucky no to have a concussion or you'd be staying here." Talia was not a force to be reckoned with so the elf drew up tall, almost twice her height and bowed dramatically. She laughed. "Ach, you're a cheeky lad! Remind me o' me own. Now, off to bed!" Smiling, Ryndan walked past the now-filled cots and left the tent, gingerly moving as he did.

Aching all over, a large hand clutching bruised ribs, he walked to his tent, replaying the moment in his mind he had seen her fight, and then Tal's words on top of that. He couldn't help but think at what kind of evils and terrors that death knight girl had seen, or perhaps even done. Was she really in her right mind the past three years? Thinking back to the battlefield, he thought she looked possessed, consumed by something out with her control. The Captain wasn't sure if he should pity her or be afraid of her, such was her actions like nothing he had witnessed before. He stopped walking.

The subject of his thoughts was standing next to a dead campfire, empty boxes surrounding it, some toppled from the panic of the night before. Her hair was mostly fallen out of her tie, dangling limp around her face and she just stared into the fire pit, unhearing or unseeing. Drawing a deep breath, he moved towards her and sat on a crate opposite her. Her eyes were no longer blue-whatever frenzy has possessed her earlier had now dissipated, her Death Knight mien alongside it. She made no note of his presence, much like the first time they had 'met'. He became wary, his nerves still shaken up from a few hours ago. Fixing his eyes on a black-charred piece of firewood, he carefully said his next words like they were the hardest thing he had ever had to say.

"Uhm, listen, I wanted to thank-"

"I can't seem to get warm." He cut off, staring at her. Her face gave nothing away that she had spoken, but he was sure she had. She was still filthy and blood-ridden. It was almost as if the colour was drawn to her, desperate to dye and claim her.

"What?" Her gaze flitted to his, holding him there. The wind blew her ghostly tendrils around her gaunt face. For a moment, he saw a flash of someone else.

"I can't get warm. The fires- I can't feel them." Her voice was a ragged whisper. Begging, pleading for something she couldn't have- for something so basic. For the first time in their brief acquaintance, Ryndan saw the girl that Walden had spoken about. She was indeed young, now raped of her innocence and forced into horrors no one should bear witness to or act on. But he also saw the cold killer that had saved his life only that morning, that butchered and decimated the remains of the enemy unnecessarily. There was never any honour in what she had done, it was for the simple pleasure of doing so. Comparing the two different sides, he wasn't sure which was the one that was her true self now. He feared for his friend's sanity regarding this girl if her humanity ever became truly lost, and he wasn't sure if she wasn't already too far gone.

Looking into her near-white eyes, seeing her turmoil and pain, he had never felt so torn.

* * *

_Two days after the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel- Early evening. _

I didn't attend the Mourning Service, it seemed, no, it _would_ be rude and near blasphemous to attend something so Holy. Especially when I was an atrocity, standing as the most opposite of everything the Dawn fought for. No, I would not burden them with my presence; they needed to grieve for their dead-a number which had grown a fraction in the aftermath of the Scourge onslaught. It was now late afternoon, the corpses had been gathered- both the Knights and the Dawn checking each broken body for the sign of a pulse.

I remembered fighting. The weight of the blades as Deathweaver pushed the hilts into my hands, barking to get out there. I had barely stepped onto the field before an uncontrollable desire for death had overwhelmed me. I was in control enough, it seemed, to determine friend from foe. My hands and feet moved of their own accord, dancing a deadly step to an unheard beat, paving a way through a river of blood. I had chosen my alliance on that field. Not that there had truly been a question of it. I had not met this Arthas in any of my memory, this supposed King I was to have sworn fealty to. I was not myself, Talia had said. She may have been right. By slaying the renegade knight on the field, I had shown my standings, who I sided with.

Scoffing, I looked down to the camp. I was sitting a way out, in an abandoned logging camp, it seemed. The Ebon Blade had not extended an offer to me to join their ranks and I had not sought one out. By saving the Elf, my duty was now sworn to the Dawn. Not out of any Holy revelation, but because I needed penance. I still heard dying screams, watched as tears of dread fall from life-leeched eyes. My mind would not let me have peace. I had killed more than two men. I had killed an innumerable amount. I could never be forgiven for this.

A soft resonance could be heard. Leaning against the rotted wooden pillar, I closed my eyes and listened. A hymn- I hummed along as it grew louder, but remaining just as reverent. It fell and rose, wept and became overjoyed. A song of Lament. Yes, I remembered it clearly, all the words coming to me as easy as, well, breathing to a living being might. The words were discomfortingly familiar, even if where I learned them was unknown to me.

"Cersae?"

Opening my eyes I saw Mort slouching towards me. His shirt and trousers were flawless, dressed with a leather waistcoat and daggers sheathed at his belt. He was the healthiest looking undead she had seen at the camp- out of the small handful that resided there anyway. I knew that I knew him, my mind would occasionally throw random images of him to me, like a teacher would with a child learning new words. I found his presence a small comfort in the raging tempest I was now mentally waging. If there was one thing that made sense in this confusion, it was someone from my 'past'. He kneeled beside me, face full of concern.

"What are you doing here, Little Girl?" his tone was as inquisitive as a pit-bull seeking meat. Not concern then, annoyance. It felt familiar. "You shouldn't be out here after today." I cocked an eyebrow and asked him his own question. His face contorted into something akin to a grimace. The visible skin on him was still intact, even if it had a dead hue to it, he didn't differ much now from the small dream-like flashbacks I witnessed. His hair seemed mostly down though, in my recollections, whereas now it was mostly kept in a tie.

"I'm coming to get satisfaction. Three Death Knights are to be executed after the Service and I intend to get a front row seat." His voice didn't hide the disdain towards my former soldiers. I didn't take offence- what right had I to be offended? I stood up, not caring that my already dirty clothes were now covered in dust.

"Well then, let's go get a good view."


	7. Chapter Six- Welcome to the Argent Dawn

Sitting high up in the bowled Glade gave us both quite a good vantage point to view the executions. At least until the sun set.

Two had been performed so far, the first was a quiet affair- a bit of speech-making (inaudible from our 'seats'), some reshuffling on the platform where the entertainment was taking place and then a _whumf_ followed by a head roll. Pretty basic as far as beheading goes really. The second prisoner became inconsolable, or uncontrollable- I'm not sure. Either way ghastly moans and sounds loudly reverberated around the unhallowed grounds causing half of the small group down below to jump back in surprise or fear.

They had arrived not an hour ago, a group of ten or thereabouts, simply walking into the area in box formation. Mort and I had been perched in some dried out and dead undergrowth far uphill awaiting their arrival so we had a pretty good view. In the centre of their troupe were three figures- hooded, chained and damned. Four glaringly white tabards signified Argent Dawn representatives, whereas the bound-in-ugly-looking-armour-and-shiney-blue-eyes heralded the Ebon Blade lot. The prisoners were in underclothes or padding only, though at this point, I don't really think they would have cared. The last of their group was a mountain with a halberd ("Tauren, strong as they look- wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that swing," Mort provided).

They had been dragged to the top of a plain stone square and each dragged to three of the four corners where Mort informed me they were tied to iron rings which once grounded cauldrons. I daren't ask what the cauldrons were used for. This gloomy place was more than enough creepy to signify that it was something not-so-friendly.

It was darkening quickly so the first execution was performed swiftly, no questions asked. The second… not so much. Once she heard her companion fall, hysteria took over and I realised her grotesque sounds was actually maniacal laughter. She had to be subdued by two retainers and the giant figure performing the deed moved forward to end it quickly before she grew worse. Her cackle resonated for a small while after her head stopped rolling.

It was dark now- too dark to attempt the third straight away so they fumbled around with torches and the like, making the situation look like some bizarre theatre act on stage. Even then this execution was dragging a little. Up until now, my undead companion had been wistfully silent, possibly revelling in each death as they dropped, but now he was becoming anxious and fidgety. There was some form of discussion going on down below and even I was becoming impatient with their procrastination. I made to say as much to Mort only to find he wasn't at my side anymore- he was half way down the hill.

"Bloody moron," I cursed and tentatively pressed forwards to follow him. I wasn't surprised he was away without my notice- a small _something_ inside me informing me that this was natural for him. I stepped over a branch, just missing that rock there-

_"Come on Edmund, keep up with me!" I laughed, oh how good it felt to stretch my legs!_

_The sun rose high and bright in the sky and I found I had to take my cloak off and roll up my shirt sleeves. With our good mood, I didn't notice my heavy bags, my aching feet, weary body or the shadowy figure that stepped into our path from behind a large stone. They had the sun haloing their figure like a celestial being from the books._

_He spoke. It was ugly, crude…almost guttural sounds that were …inhuman. I felt cold. Adjusting to the light shining in my eyes I saw why he sounded weird._

_It was a body. A corpse, to be exact. Dead…rotting…and walking right to us. Daggers flashed in the sunlight. I screamed._

I ran.

A hand clamped over my mouth and the other around my abdomen brought me back to reality. Unable to get my bearings until Mort told me to calm down was very distracting before I realised I had moved positions- namely thirty or so feet's worth.

The Execution Party didn't seem to notice my tumble down the hill, apparently I had just dropped like a bag of rocks before he was able to catch me. Slowly releasing me, Mort stepped back, hands tentatively resting on my shoulders.

"What was that?" he demanded, voice raspy in its whisper. I wasn't even sure myself. Trying to recall the memory's details drew up blank but overall I just envisioned _green _everywhere. I could only shake my head as the dream faded to nothing.

"-know a lot about the Citadel! I was stationed there, part of the elite-" The voice was echo-y and male, deep too. Attention lost on me, Mort had already skulked to a new spot to eavesdrop.

"Silence!" A slap of flesh-on-flesh was heard. There were the shapes of crates nearby and scattered assorted litter on the floor still. I moved carefully over what I could see as I made my way further into the abandoned ritual site, joining my Forsaken companion.

"They have a prisoner! I was among those who captured her! I will tell you anything-" Another blunt crack echoed accompanied with a pained cry. Ouch, this guy was not getting off lightly.

"A moment, if you please, Koltira."

"Thassarian." Deathweaver moved backwards, away from the last prisoner- I still couldn't see him through the small crowd. He must be on his knees. Or the floor. My head twinged in recognition at the Thassarian's name- another Lieutenant, my mind supplied. I nodded in acceptance of this information, earning a brief glance from Mort.

"Why should we believe your information over what we of the Ebon Blade already know?" A small shuffle was heard- I saw a head appear briefly-naked of a hood, twisting around watching everyone. An Elf, judging by those ears.

"I was at the Citadel, most recently- I have no loyalty to Arthas! I can help you attack it! Ask me anything! " the cries were pathetic and probably unnecessary, he was not surviving this night.

"And if we already know what we need for a full-frontal assault?" Thassarian's line of questioning gave little away about how much they really knew, I felt. I think it was more to see how much this prisoner would be willing to give up.

"You don't! You at Acherus don't know what is going on in Icecrown! The Lich King saw that all contingents were kept ignorant-"

"Lies!" Deathweaver cried, moving fast.

"Koltira! Stand down!" –I just noticed his sword was raised, bright runes gleaming in the firelight. It was magnificent…

_"Well done Cersae…you have successfully created your first runeblade weapon…Sow the seeds of chaos and destruction!"_

"Move aside, Thassarian!"

Apparently Deathweaver didn't like being called 'ignorant'. He lowered it, but did not sheath his blade.

"I swear I care not for the Scourge King! Let me live and I shall prove it! I- I ran from here out of fear that you would slay us all! I was forced into this nightmare!" The prisoner was rambling and we all knew it. Silence was the man's only reply. None of the standing few said anything. I was glad not to be in that man's position right now. His petition was either being disregarded or silently considered. The man begged for mercy again. This reaction, the whole of it he had begged so far, seemed almost…_human._ I was not the only person to notice this.

"Would you be willing to swear allegiance to the Ebon Blade and give up your life if you must in defence of its beliefs?" Thassarian asked gently. Mort grumbled something under his breath- I had forgotten he was there, so enraptured was I in the drama unfolding before.

"Yes- of course! I was made to kill my younger brothers- I want revenge! Please, let me live and I will tell you everything!" The pleading was pathetic. Thassarian regarded everyone present. The four Argent Dawn representatives, their white tabards shining, were watching quietly, seemingly content to let the Ebon Blade work out its own quarrels. An older man- grey hair and beard giving him the appearance of a wiseman- donning a very decorative tabard moved to whisper with Thassarian. I assumed this to be Fordring. There was nodding and murmuring amongst the group.

"Very well. You will live and pledge your allegiance to the Ebon Blade- "

"No. Not the Blade. Swear it to the Dawn, and that way if you turn traitor, then on their heads be it for letting you live." Deathweaver cut in. His sword was now strapped across his back and his stiff stance added levity to his hostile tone. Thassarian and the others present regarded him. Fordring nodded.

"The Argent Dawn accepts your allegiance and you will offer all information regarding Arthas' movements in Northrend that you know. You will commit to the Dawn for the rest of your days and hereby swear to our laws." He moved in front of the Death Knight, blocking what little view I had of him. "Will you pledge your life to the Argent Dawn and its associated Chapters of your own free will, wholly and fully?"

"I, Terowin Darksworn pledge my fidelity, soul and life to the service of the Argent Dawn for eternity." The voice was ragged and ageless, I still couldn't see this 'Terowin Darksworn'. Deathweaver made a noise of discontentment but it was ignored as Fordring moved forward and a rattle of iron being unchained was heard. The knight stood up tall, a few inches taller than Fordring, blue eyes glowing bright. The Highlord reached forward and grasped the Knight's hand- where a large, incandescent light emitted from the joining. I threw my arms up to conceal my eyes, burning where they had briefly caught the radiance lighting up the Glade. Squinting, when it seemed safe, I took a moment to regain focus. Fordring was now glowing- as was the elven man he still had grasped.

"Welcome to the Argent Dawn, Terowin."

Darksworn looked awed and defeated at the same time. I briefly wondered if he would regret trading one master for another.


	8. Chapter Seven- Arguments and Adjuration

_Ten days after The Battle for Light's Hope Chapel._

"I'm going to Northrend," I stated, not looking up from my small work pile.

"No, you're not." He didn't even hesitate in answering. No consideration required, it's a no, end-of-story.

"I'm not asking your permission, Mort. I'm going to Northrend." I folded the last few bandages carefully, settling them in their designated box. Talia left us lists like this to do overnight since we, the un-sleeping, had little else to do. She had an abundance of work, we had few people willing to allow us to help them…all in all, not a bad deal. Idleness did not sit well with me, you see.

"No you're not, you are coming with me to the Undercity. We're going to get you looked at to see if there's a way to reverse-"

"Mort, that's not happening." I said point blank.

"I will not hesitate to throw you over my shoulder, girl and drag you-"

"I promise it will not end well for you if you try." Coolly declaring this I looked directly at him to get my point across. Judging by the flinch he gave, it worked. I may not like being what I am now, but even so I'm not going to be told what to do. I returned to finishing the packing of the last of the medical supplies. All it needed was to be moved to the docks tomorrow for loading. Mort had also tentatively returned to his assortment of tasks and it wasn't hard to tell that he was pissed at me. It was a few moments of silence before he spoke again.

"Why?"

Why indeed. I barely understood why.

"To find Edmund." I said simply, picking the last crate up and moving it to the rest in the corner of the tent. He followed, mirroring my actions.

"Cers, the chances of you finding him in Northrend are –"

"I know that, Mort. But I'm not going to sit around here doing nothing while he's still out there-"

"You can come back to the Undercity! We can get you back to normal somehow! There has to be a way to reverse this state you're in, Little Girl. Edmund has travelled for _three years_ to find you, he can hold off a little longer, I'm sure, that's if he's even _alive._ He'd rather see you healthy and alive than this monstrous-" He cut off, no doubt realising his error. I refused to look at him, preferring to walk out the tent, ignoring his calls. The night was wearing on, a small handful of people still awake around camp, the majority sound asleep. Mostly, I heard snores in at least three of the tents I passed.

Knowing he would, Mort caught up to me and attempted to slow my pace. I walked up the hill and sat at the Chapel's broken stairs. For once the stars were visible.

"He's alive Mort. I'd know otherwise." A naïve ideal, perhaps, but given it felt to me as though it were only last week I had last lain eyes on him…Suppressing the urge to sigh, I became aware of Mort's presence seated beside me. He didn't say anything. Once again, silence wore on between us. It was never like this, I felt. There were times when we couldn't get words in edgeways over each other talking and now…

"The Highlands."

"What?" he inquired.

"The Arati Highlands," I explained. "That's where we first met."

"Yes, it is…well, it's the _Arathi_ Highlands, but close enough." He chuckled hollowly. "Do you remember that?" I nodded.

"Yes, when I fell down the hill a a week or so ago at the executions it was because I'd had a flashback. It was when I first met you- the way you just crept round from behind that standing-stone. I'd never been more terrified!" I chuckled in remembrance. It had been haunting me for a while now, the memory. I recalled the visions of green and over the past few days small bits and pieces starting connecting and fitting together again. I thought about the first night under the stars with me, him and Edmund, admiring the very same cosmic scenery tonight. That's when I noticed Mort staring at me, wide-eyed.

"What?" I sat up straight, wondering if I was under some threat of some sorts.

"Nothing. I just…well, you laughed."

I did?

"Oh." I heard something akin to a sigh coming from him.

"Why did this all have to happen?" he said, possibly to no one in particular because I wasn't sure how he wanted me to answer. I regarded him out of the corner of my eye. Grey skin, tinged blue and green here and there was still stretched dangerously thin over his skull but remained intact. The mop of dark hair he had no doubt painstakingly preserved since his Undeath was currently in a lot better shape than my drab tresses. His eyes seemed to be yellower than I expected whenever I looked to him, like I anticipated a … less freakish image_. He's changed_, I hesitantly realised. And not for the better either- could Forsaken age? He tended to hold himself straight when walking, hunched when skulking and twisting in all sorts of ways when laughing his ass off at something. I'm pretty sure bones aren't supposed to crack _that often_ when moving, anyway. But right now, he just looked tired- a dire look on a corpse.

"Who knows, perhaps The Light has some greater plan for me," I answered wistfully, though I sincerely doubted it.

"Cersae, let me ask you something." I titled my head in his direction, curious as to the change in severity of his voice. "What exactly do…no, _when _exactly do you remember to?"

What a strange question. I thought about it.

"Well…I remember Edmund…a library, or at least somewhere with lots of books." I thought hard again, allowing the images to come forward. "Err… oh, travelling with Edmund, and then we met with you in the Highlands. I know we went to the Undercity but I can't remember getting there or why…" I rattled off a few of the images I had stored in my brain. By resolving myself to find Edmund, I seemed to have unlocked some door in my mind and slowly but surely memories of him were starting to come back. Being bored and unable to rest gave me much time to reflect.

"Any recollection about your life before Edmund, at all?" I concentrated but nothing came to mind. I shook my head, earning another sigh.

"Edmund, do you remember what he looked like?" Mort asked gently. I made to reply and found my voice stuck in my throat. A blank face. Long hair surrounding it? Or was it short? How old was he? A small panic formed.

No…I didn't remember at all.

"He had…dark…hair?" I suggested tentatively. Mort just looked saddened. I had to say, I didn't like that I couldn't even recall someone so important from my past.

"It'll come back to you, I'm sure," I wasn't. "And about your life- just…when it does come back, don't tell anyone what you've remembered, no one but me. It will seem confusing, but it's important until I can explain it to you. Can you promise me that?" I was startled, what…on Azeroth could be so bad to remember that I wasn't to speak to anyone?

"Mort?"

"Just trust me, please Cersae, it's vital. I would tell you but I think you need to remember it on your own." He was looking at me hard, like he was trying to memorise my face. Then the tense mood was interrupted.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my dear Elven Sister-in-arms and her sidekick ghoul." I know that drawl. I _hate_ that drawl. The owner of that echoed drawl deserved to die…_painfully_. Mort stood up to greet Darksworn, who was currently sauntering up the hill.

"Terowin." Mort greeted. We watched- or drew daggers in my case- as the Kaldorei Knight sauntered- yes, that's definitely a saunter right there- up towards us. Dark hair tied back and wearing the same standard military woolens as me he still looked quite fierce. The burning blue eyes probably helped that image though- something I was a little grateful I lacked.

"The one and only. What are you both doing at such a late hour? Praying, perhaps? Trying to save your souls from Eternal Damnation?" he laughed. He had been here a total of less than a minute and I'd near-murdered him in my mind about four times. He threw a smirk towards us, pale green skin garish in the moonlight.

Make that five deaths.

"Yes, we were and oh, look at the moon, our time is up. We're going, good luck with your penance and repenting." And with that I stood, dragging Mort by the bony wrist away from the looming Night Elf. Once we were out of earshot (a space very far away given the size of those ears) I dropped his hand and kicked a dead fire-pit nearby scattering the cindered remains.

"You two still fighting?" Mort pried. I _humphed_. Not three days after his near-execution did I finally meet him. Coming out of the Officer's tent following some important-looking officials, I had pulled him aside to ask about his thoughts on 'How to deal with your first Death Knight Turning'.

His response of "_Get over your self-pitying. You've committed the same atrocities as the rest of us_, willingly_, and are not entitled to special pandering treatment. You're a Death Knight whether you like it or not, so start facing reality- you're just as tainted as the rest of us,"_ didn't go down terribly well with me and so I avoided him like a plague. Even so, he seemed to be taken with me and found great, sickening amusement in tormenting me with his very existence. Where I had hoped to seek a like-situated individual, instead I found one of the most condescending, annoying bastards on the face of the map.

"Something like that," I muttered. His simpering, wheedling personality seemed to have dried up after escaping death and I for one would prefer he just revert back to the baby he was that night. I don't know why he wasn't taken with Mort, probably just by association with me, but no respect was offered between them.

"Well, I'm needed to help finish of Dan's tallies of the smithies, so I'm going over yonder. I need to finish my own packing to head back to Lordaeron day after tomorrow. Can you head back and finish folding the linen for the hospital?" I nodded, looking forward to some personal space for a while. I turned to leave before Mort caught my arm.

"Oh, and one more thing. Dear to me or not, threaten me again, and you _will _suffer for it. Understood_, Little Girl_?" and then he was gone. I stood on the spot for a few moments trying to gather my thoughts.

I didn't know if I was more scared of the idea of him being serious, or that the idea of him being physically capable of hurting me was laughable now.

What had I become, and when did I accept it so readily?

Four days later, boarding the one of the fourteen vessels bound for the North, I still didn't have any answers. Only more and more questions.


	9. Chapter Eight- Alternative Arrangements

_Three Weeks after the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel._

Six days of being at sea had worn off the novelty of ship life and Ryndan Firesworn, Knight-Captain of the Argent-Dawn-now-Crusade, middle child in a set of five and only son of the Firesworn bloodline was ready to land at any moment.

Luckily he didn't suffer the same sea-nausea that afflicted a minority of his brethren. Leaning against the bulwark rail of the quarterdeck gave him a good scope of the goings on. Some of it amused him, others impressed him (mainly those up in the masts-he will never understand how all those ropes work) and other antics displeased him- namely the vomitting.

"Gid tae see yi've still goat yer sea-legs there, lad." Ryndan allowed a small smile in spite of himself before straightening his face to greet his distinct company. A barrel was rolled up beside him and a figure clambered to sit atop it.

"After my first voyage, I made a vow to never travel by sea without them," he retorted back to the sea-faring dwarf. He was met with a booming laugh and fond punch to the shoulder.

"Aye, many years ago noo, wasn't it? Ah still remember the wee welpling that you were, all legs 'n' arms, wobblier than a newboarn calf!" A strip of white emerged from beneath a full bush of black hair. Suppressing a grin back, Ryndan favoured a grimace at the age-old memory of his first voyage, aged sixteen, still a 'whelpling' indeed. Grim, his dwarven companion on both- and many other- journeys, currently sat atop a barrel next to him peeling an orange. His shirt had long-since given up any semblance of pretending to be white and now settled for a faded parchment colour. A full head and beard of black hair was separated into two braids- 'wan fur the frunt 'n' wan fur the back, makes the drunken human-keelhauls a bit easier if the crew have summat tae hold on to.' Apparantly. Ryndan just took his word for it, never wanting to experience a 'drunken keelhaul'.

"Aye, though, it's no the worst 'hing that's happened to me. Thanks tae this beauty," Grim fondly patted the barrel he sat upon with one rough hand and gave a dramatic sigh, orange juice spluttering out of his mouth and soaking into his beard. "Tis yer best friend oot at sea. An' sometimes yer wurst enemy. In fact, wan time a few years back, ah woke up hangin' fae the top mast, rope wrapped aroun' me gullet- dressed in nuhin' but mah birthday suit wi' mah privates swingin' freer than a man at t' gallows and all mah hair shaved aff!" he pointed one stumpy finger at his head in mock horror. Ryndan found himself snorting at the unpleasant image.

"It took me months-naw, _years_ tae grow this back!" he stroked the long black braid resting on his chest almost as gently as one might a newborn. He laughed at the boatswain, never tiring of hearing such antics as those out at sea. It certainly took his mind off the more menial tasks that needed doing- like drills, exercises and partaking in Prayer services (all difficult to do on a busy deck). The deckhands had been very accommodating, declining offer of help to run the ship from the contingents on board, happy to sit and laugh with his men and women come nightfall exchanging tales and rum.

Ryndan kept mostly to his bunk at night, not favouring the cooler air, content to listen to the joyful noises above him. He knew that soon, such fun times would be far and few between- and that a number of his charges won't come back alive; a grim fact he was all too aware of, much like his only two superiors on the ship.

Looking across the deck, he saw Commander Ashwood and Commander-Lieutenant McGreaves deep in conversation. Despite being his next-in-line superiors on the ship, and also having a great respect for both of them, the Captain couldn't help but find the image comical.

Tall, slender and violet-skinned, Commander Nhuada Ashwood was a veteran of the Argent Dawn. She had been involved in many battles for the Alliance in her time- including a successful period (months, or so the stories go) overseeing and defending the long fought-over Lumber Camp in Ashenvale. Ryndan had been her subordinate for three years now and admired the Kaldorei woman greatly. Her current conversation partner however…A greying-dwarf, he scarce reached the top of her hips. Admittedly, she was tall for even a Kaldorei woman, but she never seemed like she was talking down at you. McGreaves appeared to be very severe. A Paladin for coming on forty-years, he had been around, experiencing and witnessing much. Even so, Ryndan wasn't sure that Commander Ashwood was younger than him by any means, no matter how youthful she appeared.

Almost as if he knew he was being observed McGreaves looked to Ryndan across the deck when the Commander's eyes wandered and threw him a rude gesture paired with a bold grin. Ryndan couldn't contain the snort that escaped at his superior's antics.

"That man's in charge o' how many on this ship?" Grim asked, not having missed the quick exchange. Observing deckhands as they scurried around deck and up the rigging, Ryndan did a mental headcount.

"Fifty-three for him including myself. Fifty-two for me and then fifty-four for Commander Ashwood including me and McGreaves." He had memorised the rosters for his ship, wanting to know exactly who _he_ was in charge of back at Light's Hope. He also knew the exact whereabouts of _those two_. Darksworn and the girl were currently aboard the ship closest starboard. In a reflex he turned to view said ship behind him.

Early afternoon placed the sun overhead as it made its way to the horizon for night, meaning no glare hindered his view of the three ships spaced out to the right. A few figures were seen moving in the distance atop the closest sister vessel. His mind wandered to the girl occasionally, mainly due to Walden. Before departing for the Undercity some ten days ago, the Forsaken had pleaded to his friend to look out for her; something that he was less than stellar about doing. But even so, there had been something in Walden's crooked voice that Ryndan couldn't simply ignore. The image of her at the campfire- dead and cold- was also haunting his waking hours when idle. Unable to explain the strange grief he felt at the memory, the Blood Elf found himself curious as to her life _before_ –

"Land, HO!"

Mirroring all heads on deck, Ryndan's turned to view the front of the ship. Sure enough, a long, misty shape was emerging from the North; a weary welcoming overshadowing their arrival.

For all the stories and tales of what lay on that continent, for now, Ryndan could only view it as earth, a large island that sat in the middle of entire ocean. It didn't seem quite so scary, sitting far away, looking towards it. Some cheered, others stared silent, the deckhands the only ones moving still. Land was in sight, and nervous apprehension didn't taste well with sea spray. Overall the overwhelming feeling of relief should have been the ultimate mood. But on that landmass lay the deadliest enemy and tyrant known to Azerothian history. And they were headed straight for it.

"Listen, Dan." Grim dropped his voice to a deep whisper, his normally laugh-lined face falling serious. "There're creatures in the Fjords that are nothing like ye've ever seen. They'll put the fear o' death in most men, and women" he nodded his head to a Sin'dorei woman who walked past, "and make ye wish ye'd never set foot upon them lands. I've seen them fae a long distance, they're huge. Ye need tae be careful, alreet? Promise me you'll no do ony'hin stupit." His mouth was a hard line, bushy eyebrows drawn to a furrow. Ryndan nodded.

"Alright, I'll promise. Thank you, friend." He clapped his hand on the dwarf's shoulder and regretted it as his palm was coated with sweat. Grim boomed a laugh and slid off the barrel. "See you aboot, Dan, got work needin' dae'in'" he called, rolling the barrel across the deck. Wiping his hand on his leather breeches, he stretched his long legs and stood, working a kink out in his lower back. Shading his eyes again, he looked to the ships to his right. They were far enough that only black silhouettes were seen moving on board unidentifiable, too far to carry a shouting conversation, but even so, the mass of white hair blowing at the side nearest was not unnoticed.

Nor were the small shapes in the far distance making their way towards them from the direction of Northrend.

* * *

A few hours later found them all up close and personal with Northrend. The Fjords cliff faces were in clear, visible sight. They loomed over, a challenge to the sea to break them down. The sea crashed and fought, but made barely a difference. _The sea is patient, ye ken, it might take months, years, decades or more, but in the end, land always succumbs to her, _Grim had once told him_. _The chill had been evident for some time, most donning thick cloaks now, regardless of the afternoon sun bearing over in the west. Icy breath was visible everywhere. Fish were jumping, some small, some large, and once, even though he'd missed it personally, others claimed to have seen an enormous fish -_it was_ _bigger than the ship!_-splashing in the sea. Even with the knowledge that they'd be landing soon, even if they were seeing this strange new world for the first time, no one was taking note of it as they drew nearer. In fact, the ships in line, all seven, had ground to a halt, anchored down.

Captain Firesworn currently sat below deck, seated around a large table in the Chartroom with three others, discussing the news just received; the projected landing site was no longer accessible.

Not an hour ago, the small shapes had evolved into a group of four rowboats, each containing not even a third of its capacity. Each person- whether they were sailor, Crusader or trader- were all shaken, exhausted and injured and bearing the same dire news. Apparently the Horde had taken control of the strand where the Argent Crusade had aimed to set up port on the northeast coast- thus resulting in them sinking two of the three forward ships; the flagship included.

The report from the escapees was a grim one. Shrouded in a low lying mist, the coast had been near invisible, and so two were anchored, awaiting its clearing before proceeding to unloading. And then they had attacked. Identified as Horde and hostile, the enemy tore into them. The third ship was bound for Port Valgarde and had broken earlier that morning from the group, unbeknownst of the tragedy befalling its sister ships. Upon reaching the seven still travelling, Captain Taylor immediately apprehended all of the survivors and insisted they see the medics on board- partially due to the injuries and beginnings of frostbite beginning to form and partially to stop panic spreading amongst the crew. Safely nestled in his quarters, they had received the news.

"There are survivors, you say?" Taylor asked, surprisingly calm. He was leaning forward, hands clasped in front of him on the table. Commander Ashwood was similar, with her long hands resting beneath her chin.

"Aye, sir, on the Strand. The officers forbade us to return, we had to come warn ye and the others." A gnome spoke, clearly holding back tears. "Sir, we can't leave them! The Horde will destroy them-"

"Calm yourself, seaman, they will not be forgotten. However, two of our ships, one being the Flagship have been brought down and there are eleven more on the way north, including these seven. You did well rowing out this far to warn us, go join your comrades in the bunks below deck. Oh, and keep this information among yourselves only, I have a fleet to handle and don't need cause for restlessness among the crews." The gnome and a draenei woman, who had remained silent throughout, nodded and left only having joined the Officers as they were the only two who were seemingly capable of talking at the time. Captain Taylor turned to the Officers.

"I must speak with the other Captains; alternative arrangements need to be made." He steepled his hands. "Word has been signalled to each ship to ask each Captain to come aboard to discuss this trouble. I wonder if they would have stood more or less of a chance had the third ship stayed…" He tightened his jaw, deep in thought. The Argent Crusaders merely observed, deferring to the Captain's knowledge in all things naval. From here on out, it was Taylor's call to organise the fleet as the most senior of the seven Captains currently travelling together. Ryndan guessed the man to be in his forties- a dark pinstriped grey beard was cleanly resting atop his chin, his face hard with lines and tanned skin. The Captain looked up sternly, small blue eyes nearly as deep as the sea they sailed on.

"The presence of the Horde is a surprise," he started, "we had information that their naval forces were near non-existent, never mind ahead of us and already established on land." He gave a pointed look to the Dawn representatives. "If they've captured the third ship or worse…" Commander Ashwood leaned forward, posture straight and strong. Her sabres sat sheathed across the back of her chair, never straying far from her person.

"The Dawn only passed on what information we had; it was not- _is _not- our duty to spy on the Horde for the Alliance. We were not aware they were travelling north anytime soon, especially not to our proposed landing site. The ship descriptions however, match those of the Forsaken boats, specifically." Ryndan sucked in his breath. "The war being brought to Northrend is no secret, Captain Taylor. It is not a surprise that the Horde have jumped on this as quickly as the Alliance has. As a _neutral _faction, we maintain peace with both. However, sailing under Alliance colours, even if for transport purposes only, without passing word to the Horde to hold fire, is a costly mistake on the Dawn's part. Nobody anticipated the Horde being a problem it would seem; a poor underestimation. None were seemingly prepared for this." She paused, letting her bright eyes look to each of the men. "Our task lies in advancing against Arthas and Arthas alone. It is extremely likely that both sides will be called upon when marching to The Lich King's fortress; we will need what numbers _both_ factions can supply. The hatred between the Horde and Alliance is not of our concern. Do not make it so when rescuing these stranded men and women. Are we understood, Captain Taylor?" her voice was steady and calm, but Ryndan knew through word-of-mouth that Commander Ashwood was not someone to defy or mess with. Her tone was quiet and dangerous.

"If a Horde dog stands in the way of saving my men, I will not hesitate to kill him, regardless of whether the Argent Dawn needs numbers or not. Those people are my priority over your request, Commander." He replied brusquely, hard eyes bearing into her own.

"Understandable. I would not ask you to risk your men to save someone who is causing direct harm, but, take caution, more casualties for the Horde and Alliance is less force against Arthas." She pressed. A knock at the door interrupted whatever retort Captain Taylor was preparing to give-

"Scuse me sir! T'other Cap'ns hiv arrived tae talk" Grim popped his head round the door, black beard visible before his face. "They're lookin' worried, sir."

Taylor nodded, "Thank you Boatswain, send them down."

All four stood up, Taylor remaining, unrolling a large vellum map onto the table while the Dawn took leave- McGreaves had been mysteriously quiet throughout the ordeal. They stood quietly atop the deck, watching the cabin door as tensely as the rest of the crew. Difference was, the crew were kept in ignorance for the time being about the situation, only the Officers and those who escaped the Horde onslaught knew current circumstance. Nearly an hour had passed, the sun was low in the sky, the chill turning to a frosty cold. The rowboats the other Captains had arrived on sat afloat either side of the ship, swaying on the waves in such a lulling way that as Ryndan leaned over the bulwark to watch them, he didn't notice that the Captains had finally exited the cabin until Taylor spoke from the centre of the quarterdeck.

"There's been an accident involving the Flagship, crew. Our initial landing site is no longer of use. Due to this, the current fleet shall split up. We're going to make port at Valgarde alongside _The Maid of the Sea_." He nodded to a stern looking woman on his right. "Two of the other ships will head west, to the Tundra," A couple of the Captains nodded in affirmative, "two shall sail to the Dragonblight coastline and one will remain out at sea to report to the remaining fleet upon their arrival over the following days. There is nothing to be alarmed about, we shall carry on as intended." Collectively, the crew seemed to deflate, happy that there was no cause for worry and set out back to work in preparation for sailing once more.

"What about the crew of the other three ships sir? Are they safe?" a voice called out from the back. Everyone present turned to the Captain, but he did not falter. He looked amongst the crowd. There were murmurs of worry and concern for their fellow seamen and women.

"There are casualties, and some are unable to travel." He paused, letting the information sink in. "It is unknown if any are dead. We shall plan further once we reach Valgarde, making sure we have extensive knowledge of the surrounding areas before we rescue them. They can survive until then, for they are of the Alliance! And when we have found them, we shall treat them to fine rum and a warm meal in their bellies!" The crew cheered in agreement, excitement and optimism in the air. _A good speech, _Ryndan thought, though he was certain that there were Argent Dawn members aboard them also. Still, a little morale boost went in long favour to settle the crew. A few of the Dawn moved below deck and others headed to the kitchen area for stew. The Captains shook hands and muttered amongst themselves before departing and setting off to their respective vessels. Captain Taylor went to stand aloft.

Commander Ashwood muttered, "Well, I'll be damned"

"What's that, Commander?" McGreaves asked, tugging his braided beard.

She released a breath and ran a hand through her short, violet hair, bending an ear as she did. "He left out the part about the Horde, I was sure for certain he would mention it to rile the crew into thinking they had to mount a rescue mission immediately. He's actually playing it smart."

"With any luck then, the other Captains either talked him out of it or he simply made the decision to take care of this ship and its passengers first." Ryndan supplied, crossing his arms. He looked to the man in question, standing above them all at the wheel. A frown was evident on his face, it wasn't an easy thing to do; lying to those who put their lives in his trust, but that was what war was about- hard, uneasy decisions that had to be made every day. Sometimes they involved lies and pain, sometimes it's because it's 'in their best interests', and sometimes, there's just a lack of choice to do otherwise.

Thinking of Walden, who had travelled to the dark Undercity only two weeks before, Ryndan felt this more keenly than he'd liked. Even after years of friendship, would Walden have hidden any knowledge of a Forsaken expedition from him? And if so, were the intentions for the best, or for the Undercity?

Ryndan's mood felt as dark as the clouds now shading Northrend.

* * *

A/N- Two chapters today as I had fallen behind in my writing schedule. I've written about six chapters (and other bits and pieces) ahead in the story and am working backwards to join it all up and make sure it still makes sense! It's all wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.

Thank you for taking the time to read this far, I wasn't joking when I said it was a long story, but fear not, we have _finally _arrived in Northrend and now the going is starting to get tough. Much appreciations to those who have favourited/followed this- it's such a huge morale boost! Thank you :D


	10. Chapter Nine- A Northrend Greeting

Our row boat was sturdy and strong as we rowed upwards against a calm current. The icy cliffs towered above, shading us from any sunlight, the crack of sky above visible through the hazy mists. The main ship remained out at sea for the time being, Captain _whatever-her-name-was_ informing us that the main ship was advised not to attempt the Daggercap Canyon. Into one boat and straight onto another, each rowboat's departing time from the ship a solid half-hour after the previous one had left. I have to confess, I did not know the reason for the staggered leaving times initially, but rowing down the Fjords, the answer became all too soon clear.

We were the fifth rowboat to leave the ship, the last one for today as we viewed the low-lying sun. Each carried a handful of crew and passengers as well as some supplies. We each had to take our own luggage onto the rowboat- I had not had any until Lorik found me on deck before alighting the ship, pressing a bag into my hands and said one word- _Talia_. The bag was currently at my feet, containing who-knew-what.

I, as well as Terowin much to my chagrin, had taken the first shift in rowing the boat. It took us a while to coordinate our efforts with advice from the ship crewmembers riding alongside, and bickering between us, but it made the most sense as we were the strongest. We had rowed for an hour or so, judging by the setting sun, until we had crossed the sea to the Fjord inlet, before two deckhands took over seeing as they could steer through the fjords. Rowing straight was one thing, zig-zagging tight angles was, however, _not _something I was a professional at doing (to my knowledge, at least). We kept up the same pace easily once we had fallen into rhythm, fading into our own minds while doing something so monotonous. When asked if we were tired or sore, a quick internal scan of my body revealed that no, I didn't feel fatigued at all.

Advantage of being a Death Knight number one, I suppose.

We paused at the mouth of the inlet. Passing the oars to the more-experienced, Terowin and I shifted to the back of the boat. Sitting forward facing, I couldn't help but stare at what lay in waiting for us the further we sailed inwards. We had seen the rising column of dying smoke from afar at sea, the source safely hidden among the twists and turns of the fjord, but had been assured that it was not trouble at Valgarde. No, as the icy cliffs faded into earthen walls, the fiery source was revealed to be one of the fleet's own ships. Many in the boat gasped, wide eyed and worried upon the initial sight. The horrified silence fell to disturbed chatter of fear as the realisation that this was one of their own ships fell heavily on them. I simply stared, the fire actively consuming the ship up high, eating away slowly enough to serve as the warning it was intended- _You are not welcome here. _

How did it possibly get up so high…?

"Vrykul, damned scum," muttered Terowin to my left. He too eyed the ship, expression of disgust rather than the worried faces of our fellow travellers. I imagined I looked bored in comparison before realising I had voiced my question out loud.

"What are Vrykul?" I enquired. He raised a long eyebrow in my direction, but answered regardless. His grey, gaunt face annoyed me. So did his voice. And his general presence.

"They are giants, inhabitants of this land. They are found all over Northrend as far as I know. The Master has seen fit to attempt an alliance with such a race, which should be an indication to you how dangerous they are." He added with a pointed look.

"They're dangerous because they're large? Is that why He wants them?" I ventured. Ignoring his leering, I thought of the Night Elf beside me and Deathweaver, looming up above over me; how much taller than those two could they be?

"No. Arthas does not need allies; he is powerful enough on his own with the Scourge." He scoffed before leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees. "However, the Vrykul trouble him enough that he will seek an alliance from them to prevent them from turning on Him." He gave a small smirk.

"Why doesn't the Alliance or the Argent Daw-_Crusade_ seek to ally themselves with them? Wouldn't that be more advantageous?" called a gnome from near the front of the boat. Glancing forward I saw that the rest of the boat were listening intently to our conversation. Terowin laughed- a harsh noise to say the least, one that irritated.

"The Vrykul are as stupid as they are tall- they are barbarians with their clubs and furskins. They do not care for affairs or alliances- this is their land according them. They argue the territory and resources among their own tribes. Everyone else here is an intruder and is clearly not welcome!" he raised an arm upwards, indicating the decaying ship we passed underneath. A flaming piece of wood fell into the river behind us, splashing in steam as it cooled, adding to the severity of his statement. A few people gasped, but the theatricality was lost on me. I had to wonder if Terowin didn't time that or somehow made it happen to be so dramatic.

"I thought you said they were dangerous then? How can they be a threat to the Lich King if they're as stupid as you say?" a blood-elven woman chimed in, terror evident. Terowin regarded her with another trademark smirk. I had a feeling someone would want to wipe that from his face soon. With a large hammer. Twice.

"They are many, their clans and strongholds dotted all over. They might be at war with themselves, but they are trained warriors and a threat on their own if provoked. If they ever figure out that by making alliances with each other is enough to overthrow any alien armies en masse, then every non-Vrykul on this damned continent is doomed. Arthas, by siding with a few clans, keeps them divided and prevents that massive force from ever forming. Say what you will about the Lich King, but you cannot call him unintelligent; He figured out the politics of this land before the lands own occupants did!" He chuckled darkly, resting his chin on his hands, clearly enjoying the worrying theories he had just planted in these poor peoples' minds. The rest of the boat fell quiet as they contemplated his words. They were of little consequence to me; I was here for one reason- to find Edmund. Terowin's information was not relevant to my quest. The silence onboard lasted the rest of the journey

"Was the scaremongering really necessary?" I whispered, turning my head from my fellow travellers.

"This is the Frozen North, dear Sister-in-arms, I'm merely preparing them for what's truly out there. There are far worse creatures than Vrykul walking these lands," he said in a sing-song fashion. I was surprised that he had actually dropped his voice to reply. I was not surprised that that damned smirk of his was still plastered across his face.

"No need to exaggerate about them though," My hand waved upwards in a gesture of exasperation with the man, a scared crew was not an effective one. "I'm sure they're not _that _big-"

He abruptly grabbed my free hand, engulfing it in his large one tightly. Stunned I watched as the man beside me leaned in close, jaw set and blue eyes determined.

"Let me tell you one thing about me, _Cersae_, I do not lie. You will do well to remember that when faced against these beast-like brutes." He threw my hand away, choosing to watch out of the side of the boat. Only the sound of the oars slapping and cutting water was heard, the fire crackles fading as we pressed on. My hand was unable to move for the rest of the journey, but it was more his words that shook me a little- not that I'd let him know that.

The light eventually grew darker, the red glow from the blaze out of sight as we rounded another corner. Stars began appearing above, but starlight didn't aid the steering of the boat; soon the fjords would be difficult to navigate.

Well, more difficult.

Others drew their cloaks tight, huddling together for body warmth, puffs of breath evaporating into the night air. Terowin and I remained unaffected. We had been told not to light torches on the boat, to save the location becoming clear to any on-looking Vykrul. The mists drew thicker, causing distress on the rowboat, but soon we loomed into the bay, heralding our arrival at Port Valgarde.

* * *

"Would it not be wise to move port further away from such threats?" Ashwood nodded upwards at the cliffs opposites. Campfires and torchlight dotted above and across them ominously. Vice Admiral Keller shook his head, stalking forward, eyes shifting all over the new supplies as they piled up.

"No, we built this up with our bare hands. Blood and tears my friend, you understand the importance of that." He replied. His voice was gruff, no doubt from the shouting he did about the port, Ryndan didn't wonder.

"Of course, the Argent Crusade was built upon such sacrifice from the Dawn and the Silver Hand before it, but even so, are you not holding it out of stubbornness and pride? These…_monsters_ have the clear vantage point from above." Keller ceased walking, Ashwood and Ryndan with him. He turned abruptly, annoyance evident on his hardened features.

"Forgive me saying, Commander, while I appreciate your concerns for your men here, you have little understanding of how it operates. This is _my_ port and I have no intentions of giving it up until I am dead in this cold hard ground!" His statement cut off as someone saluted next to him.

"Vice Admiral- another boatsful has arrived, sir!" Keller turned to the dwarf who had approached the trio.

"Thank you Macalroy." The dwarf made to turn, but Keller laid a hand on his shoulder. "Tell me, would you give up this port because of those blasted giants up there raining hell on us day in day out, Macalroy?" The dwarf in question stood straight.

"No I would not sir! This is only major landing point this side of Northrend; it is needed for us to make headway inland! Valgarde mustn't fall!" He was very emphatic and quick to respond, Ryndan admired. Keller nodded, thanking and dismissing him- "You know the drill." He turned back to the Officers.

"The dwarf is right, it's one of two safe harbours that the Alliance has on this chunk of frozen hell- the other being a few hundred miles west of here-where your other ships're headed. We _cannot_ afford to lose this port. If Valgarde falls, our primary supply line into Northrend will cease to exist. We have no quarrel with the Dawn, Crusade-whichever you are- here, so I would appreciate you not butting your noses into how I run it or why I keep it here. Our only mission is to keep this port safe for trade and landings. As I understand it, the Dawn's own landing has not gone well, otherwise you would not be seeking refuge here." There was no accusation or mockery in his voice.

Ashwood grimaced, her mouth drawn into a hard line. They walked towards the largest bonfire in the centre of the camp. She sighed tiredly.

"Yes, you speak truth. The Horde have disrupted our plans to land in the north-east, taking two of our ships down with them, and these giants here have eradicated yet a third. This is a hard loss for us all, Vice Admiral."

"Aye, we noticed the ship entering too late to warn them, tragic business that. Our architects are drawing up plans for a watchtower further down the Fjords for such events. It's hard to determine on such ground that will give a good viewpoint but stay out of the way of the Vykrul, or so I'm told, it's all gibberish to me, otherwise we would have a bloody lighthouse instead already!" He drew a deep breath, letting it out in a cloud of cold air. "What of the survivors on the eastern coast? What are the plans for them?" The cold wind blew around them mildly, Ryndan's long ears were now numb. Unclasping his gauntleted hands from behind him, he had listened dutifully throughout the conversation, however, noting the ashen look of grief flash across his Commanding Officer's face, he stepped forward, answering in her stead.

"Captain Taylor wishes to converse with Captain Redfield of the _Maiden of the Sea_ when she arrives tomorrow about organising a rescue mission. As you know, they had to divide the fleet where necessary first earlier today before mounting one, and I believe they seek your knowledge of the surrounding environment before charging in. Do you have any information regarding the Horde Landings to the east?" To Ryndan's dismay, Keller shook his head.

"Nay, I don't, this is news to me an' all. I'll speak with the scouts when they return and offer whatever information they find to you as soon as I can. My first priority is the bastards hammering at my gates day-in-day-out however."

"We are unaware of how many supplies the stranded possess and so wish to start as soon as possible- how long before the scouts arrive back?" Ryndan enquired, anxious to mount a rescue by first light if able.

"Daily, from differing parts of the terrain. Tomorrow's report should be coming in from the north and the north-east the day after tomorrow. We shall know more then," Keller offered, sympathising with the Crusaders' worries. Grimacing in the firelight, Ryndan felt tense- he knew with decent rations and supplies his fellow soldiers could hold out for as long as necessary as well as caring for those travelling with them. However they were also under attack from a hostile threat with potentially many injured or worse. He felt that sleep would not come easy tonight for worry- a small blessing that he was glad that those in Port Valgarde did not know the true situation of their friends and companions across the land. He noted that while Commander Ashwood looked worn, Keller simply looked irritated; Ryndan wasn't sure if this was his typical expression or not, however.

"Those harpoons are giving us no end of grief and the archaeologists don't stop pestering me. I'll be honest, the situation here is critical at best. Perhaps you would care to lend a hand in securing the port further during your stay…?" He ventured curiously, almost hopefully. Ryndan turned to Ashwood, coupling his hands behind his back again. As his superior, and foremost in the port for the Crusade, this was her decision. She looked between the two men and nodded.

"Yes, Vice Admiral, the Argent Crusade will offer whatever help we can in thanks for harbouring us safely." She stated formally. To the Officers' surprise, Keller laughed loudly.

"Pun intended, Commander?" He chuckled. Realising what she'd said, Ryndan suppressed a snort and failed. Ashwood appeared puzzled for a moment, before blanching in realisation, hiding her face in her hands, groaning.

"Ah, you got to take a laugh where they come, they're far and few between up here in the north!" Keller offered, unable to wipe the grin from his face. Ashwood looked up, open-mouthed, before quirking into a smile and laughing too. Ryndan joined in, glad for the light reprieve of the last day.

The laughter was short lived as they watched the new arrivals to the port disembark from the latest rowboat. That should be the last one for tonight, the darkness shrouding any hopes of navigation up the inlet. His own had arrived second earlier this evening, his arms hurting surprisingly from his own shift at rowing. McGreaves was in the first boat and had taken to the inn uphill after unloading with an old 'war buddy' he hadn't seen in a while.

The most recent boat emptied and a yeoman tugged it along the dockside to tether it. The line of crew and ex-passengers trudged off of the landing pier, aching and tired from sitting in a boat in this cold. Macalroy was directing them as they passed, like he had with previous arrivals. Everyone seemed to be carrying bags or a crate off of the vessel, the dockworkers lending a hand in piling them appropriately where needed. Ryndan was impressed with the organisation of the port, despite being under constant attack.

Beside him, Commander Ashwood drew a sharp breath, her sharp eyes focussed and following the direction of her gaze, he soon saw why. The last of the newcomers walked at the back of the line. Two Death Knights, were walking side by side off of the pier. One possessed bright blue eyes shining in the dark, standing high above surrounding people, and the other with free white hair, flickering like a candle as she drew closer to the bonfire. She was looking around in small wonder. Suddenly the Commander swore, she turned quickly to Keller-

"I apologise Vice Admiral, you have offered us generous hospitality here and for that we are grateful, but I regret to say that I forgot to mention the presence of dea- ah, _former_ death knights among our ranks. If this offends you or your people I will see to it that they-"

"Calm yourself, Commander Ashwood." He too eyed the pair as they walked past a few feet away. They walked on, following the others up the hillside to the Tent-area behind the Inn. "These are not the first of Arthas' former lapdogs to pass this way and I doubt it to be the last. We've had a fair few sworn to the Alliance pass this way since a few weeks ago, when Arthas fled Light's Hope, and even breakaways from before that," he nodded to the two Crusaders. "Quiet enough, they never stayed long, each wanting to serve in the fight against their former enslaver. I don't give a damn if they're sincere in their new allegiance or not, if they're going to help keep my men safe then I'll gladly have them. You know as well as I do that not all of these…_Death Knights_, joined the Black Blade, or whatever they call themselves. Others went crawling back to Stormwind at their own personal risk seeking reconciliation there for their crimes."

"To the Horde Capital, also?" Ryndan interjected. He may be sworn to the Argent Dawn-now-Crusade but he still felt a little loyalty to his birthed faction and in turn curiosity at its current state. Expressly, he watched as she passed by, following the directions like those who had arrived previous, oblivious to the scrutiny she was under. Perhaps it was the light, but her expression seemed strained.

"Most likely," Keller replied, scratching his beard. "There is not one person here who will hold prejudice against the individual, unless they have personal reason to. Even then, they will perform their primary duty first, alongside anyone else who is here for the same reasons. But anyway, a few have been accepted by His Royal Majesty into the Alliance ranks and we must respect that, regardless of our feelings. His edict is final, even if he's never been out here," He finished bitterly.

He drew a tired sigh. "Look, as long as they behave themselves, and follow your command to the letter while they're here, causing no trouble, then I have no problem with them. They'll have to work just as hard as everyone else here." He turned to look upwards at the overhanging Vykrul shelters. "I won't lie to you, the situation here is critical and we can use all the manpower you're able to muster. The Light knows we need all the help we can get to survive in this forsaken wasteland."

Looking upwards at the unwelcoming bonfires on the opposing cliff-faces, Ryndan reckoned that Keller was most likely right.

* * *

I actually felt _cold_ in the cot that I currently lay upon. I even shivered, pulling my threadbare cloak tighter. Up until now, I had been numb to all sensation, aware that I _should_ be feeling yet not really caring that I wasn't. The emergency tent sheltering me kept the breeze mostly out, but even so; it wasn't the source of my discomfort. Setting foot upon this land, my first step off of the pier and onto solid earth sent trembles throughout my body. It was unusual enough to concern me, but I dare not voice my worries to anyone. Had Talia been at Valgarde, I…might have gone to her for advice, but she was not on either ship remaining at the Fjords. I didn't know where she was.

I shook myself and stood, tugging off the boots I was assigned weeks ago at the Argent Camp. They had held out well given how much I wore them. Perched on the bed, fully dressed, I weighed my options. First:- stay inside alone, for whoever was my bunkmate had yet to appear if I was indeed assigned one, the cot opposite unused- or second: amuse myself out with.

Listening to the sounds of stifled movement in the port, murmurs and faint sounds, I opted for the former in an effort to make my behaviour seem normal. Back at the Argent camp, for I found strangely missing the small routine I had fallen into, I could work and labour night and day with no worries, thanks to Tal. She would leave me a list of things to do through the shift when she was sleeping and I would make my way down it. She called me a blessing for all the work I did, menial or not. I inwardly disagreed but let her fuss over me, it kept her happy.

For all it might leave me more time, being unable to sleep, it was certainly a pain finding things to keep me occupied or entertained. (Dis?)Advantage of being a Death Knight number two, I suppose.

Reaching under the low-lying cot, I pulled free a thick cloth sack. It was tied with drawstring and seemed sturdy enough. Lorik had said that Talia had packed it, I shouldn't be surprised but the idea of her thinking of me in this capacity, left me feeling uncomfortable. I physically shifted on the bed looking at it. After a solid minute or two of internally arguing about the benefits and reasons not to open this bag, I simply shrugged and emptied the contents on the sheets beside me.

It was an untidy bundle; perhaps tipping it all out wasn't a good idea. I picked up the thing nearest to me- a cloth heap of sorts. Unravelling it revealed a long bandage-type article. I had rolled enough in her tents that perhaps she thought of this as some keepsake or even a joke. I was unsure. It was wider and longer than the other bandages though, thicker too. And the bandages, once clean, were typically not this dark a shade of white. I put it back in the sack, not really understanding its significance.

The next few items were much smaller, and stable. A small box, once opened, revealed a thick (and slightly blunt) needle in a bobbin of thread. Looking to my over-used shirt and spying one or two holes, I could see the use in this. I rarely changed and these clothes wouldn't hold out forever. A small inkwell and quill accompanied some string-tied parchment with a small note on the front, asking me to practice writing. I picked up the quill, it feeling very foreign to me. I hadn't needed to mark anything the last few weeks, simply doing manual work, so I didn't know if I could write. I could read, _obviously_, so perhaps I did possess the ability to communicate on paper… I decided to try it later, wanting something deliberate to write, rather than random scribbles. These joined the bandage and needlebox in the satchel.

The final article was a comb with a strand of plain black ribbon wrapped around it. It had many teeth and seemed quite fine. It was not ornate, but simply wooden and smooth. I was awed by it. My hand touched my hair of its own accord. It was probably a mess from this wind, I hadn't really noticed. But Talia had. She wanted me to remain tidy and neat _– "It's important for a lady! Especially in the medical profession to keep yer hair oot o' the way!" _she had told me_. _ Resisting the urge to give an irritated sigh I put it back in the bag with the rest of it, kicking the offending satchel back under the cot. Pulling on my leather boots I stomped outside, unfazed by the drizzle. Looking downhill I had a great overview of Port Valgarde and saw very little. For sometime late into the night it was still quite active. Treading downhill, stepping into mud as I went, I made my way to the dock, looking for something to do. Sitting idle was not doing much for me and I had little to think about on my own in the tent.

The first night in Port Valgarde left me feeling the loneliest I had been since awakening three weeks ago, and my chest felt disturbingly hollow at the pressure that came with solitude.


	11. Chapter Ten- The First Death

_She looks no different in death as in life_, he thought gazing down upon her motionless body. Divested of shirt and bandaged around the sorry excuse for a torso, Ryndan surveyed her 'injury' and the disturbing lack of blood- a halberd to the waist was no laughing matter. It was merely a gaping hole in her side. Several inches wide, a clean wedge in her skin. And that wasn't even the most disturbing thing about this scene.

Not even two days into port and the harbour had come under fire once more. Out of their agreement with Keller, the Argent Crusade were aiding with the defence of Port Valgarde until further orders had been received from the Commanders in Dragonblight. She had been out on the frontlines with them, issued two old-looking swords and ragtag armour pieced together from bits and pieces that would fit. Initially she seemed to be holding her ground without any problem. About fifteen to twenty Vrykul from the village engaged in the assault, and he had been busy giving aid to one of the more novice Paladins caught up in a tryst. Darksworn was also wreaking havoc amidst the skirmish however he told Ryndan later on in private that he could have done more damage were there fewer Crusaders to get in his way- something of which Ryndan couldn't determine whether it was a threat or warning.

Argent-White intermingled with animal skins and Expedition-blue wherever he turned. The presence of Death-Red was slowly gaining ground whenever he looked away.

The majority of his taskforce had come to the stalwart aid of the Valgarde Defenders upon realising the encroaching threat earlier that day.

And what a threat they were. Grim had described them as giant- but they were easily twice the size of the largest man there. A few of his Crusaders had cried out in fear-induced exultation. Ryndan himself had been quite taken by surprise, the thundering behind the forest emerging into a gnome's worst nightmare. Gathering his wits quickly, he had been able to command his troops into getting a grip. It worked for the most part, horrified surprise being suppressed to deal with later. And then the fight was on.

So when he next turned to scan the battlefield for the person most in need of him, he was taken aback when the answer was her. Her swordcraft was poor and sloppy- that was evident from even this distance. She had missed several wide gaps in his defence already and he was gaining ground on her. One of the smallest Vrykul there, yet still towering at an estimated ten to twelve feet, by Ryndan's reckoning, she had been left to tackle him alone. He started to make his way across the field, pausing to staunch a critical wound on a fellow Crusader and calling on The Light for aid. His impatience grew as he started to move once more; she was getting deeper in trouble. Having lodged one of her swords in her opponent's shoulder, it wouldn't come free for all the braids and hair it had entangled in. Swiftly avoiding another swing at her and ultimately giving up retrieval of her sword, she jumped backwards and stumbled over.

He was running faster, dodging clashing bodies, a group of four-on-one as they confused the Vrykul with their taunts and jeers. The cold-infused earth was hard beneath his plated feet as he watched the foreign halberd throw the remaining sword away. She was defenceless, and struggling to get away. He didn't see her panic, but there was nothing he could do to get there any quicker as the blade swung towards her.

It would have been a worse injury if not for another crashing into the Vrykul, throwing off his trajectory. He reached them as the Crusader smashed his shield-edge upwards of the Vrykul's face, causing him to stumble. Ryndan called upon The Light once more and with Holy Strength, plunged his blade deep into the chest of the giant. He was dead instantly. Throwing a nod at the now-identified young Sergeant Edrikson, Ryndan watched as he went to aid in the slaying of the last-standing before turning to her.

She was dead.

Even now in the tent he recalled how white her eyes had been – no blank iris visible, just a milky gauze settled over each eyeball staring into the sky. She laid, the earth mingling into her grey-white hair almost giving the illusion of being swallowed up by the ground. And the halberd had been jutting a few inches into her waist, armour torn like parchment.

He didn't want to dwell on how scared he had been in that moment, preferring to concentrate on her injuries, if indeed there was anything to be done.

"She'll wake up in a while, either the shock possibly knocked her out or it is trying to tap into the healing abilities of hers for such a large wound. I can't say which, but she's not dead," Darksworn assured them. Lorik, Terowin, himself and Yazmina- the Lead Healer of the Port- stood in an isolation tent gathered around her still form.

"I do not like this feeling," Yazmina indicated towards the girl, having already plainly stated that not healing someone injured was resting uneasily on her. And she had also commented on Cersae's very grotesque body- something he was going to discuss later with her in private.

"Come, let us leave her to heal," Ryndan suggested, though his tone wasn't going to brook an argument, not today. He was too tired and quite frankly angry to deal with it. When and if she awoke, he was going to verbally thrash her and then perhaps physically thrash her too for her stupidity.

"I will sit with her for when she awakes," Lorik commented. The Draenei rarely showed opposition, however Ryndan knew him well enough that he meant no ill intent. He nodded and the other three left quietly, the odd pair remaining in the tent with no other sound but the Shaman's breathing to listen to.

* * *

If there was one thing I learned from my first grave injury, it was that I was afraid.

Waking up to a …_a void_ terrified me. I saw nothing, I _felt_ nothing. It hadn't even occurred to me that I could die on that field as I went charging in, swords in each hand. Not even three days on land and _I had died_.

I could almost_ hear_ the smirk Terowin must have on his face.

I saw the enormous man as he had charged me, hell bent on separating my head from my shoulders. He was tailing at the back of a moderately sized group that had roared their descent onto the port. Most of the seasoned and trained fighters- both Crusaders and Defenders alike, by the looks of it, had ran to meet them upfront, leaving me and the runt of the pack to square off. No matter how I parried, no matter how hard I thrust or swung, my swords wouldn't listen to me. My arms weren't working properly- had I not torn down a goodly number at Light's Hope Chapel against the Scourge onslaught? Had I not saved Firesworn from meeting our maker? I had, so why was fighting this opponent any different? He had easily overcome me and I had been unable to do anything against him.

And here I was now, my personal mission incomplete, dead to the world with nothing else to torment me but my own fears and hazy memories. A moment of thinking allowed myself a small revelation; I wanted to _feel_ again when I died. Perhaps an inner peace or rest…even damnation would suffice. This emotionless existence was taxing on me, if I had possessed a soul, it would have felt tired.

I recalled seeing Mort for the first time again and having the feeling of joy being forcibly repressed by something unseen, disallowing even the smallest hint of happiness at our reunion. Remembering Edmund brought me nothing but the idea that I must seek him and end his search once and for all- and then to end me. I couldn't feel sadness at our parting or even grief at the idea of his death when Mort hinted at the possibility. My death was something I had looked forward to, welcomed even. Perhaps then I would have been free, as would he and all my unknown crimes be repented for. Now…now there was nothing.

All my vision portrayed to me was void. Emptiness. A blank, never-ending space. The feeling of abandonment was weighing greatly on me in this vacant wasteland. I was alone in a dreaded state, not even welcomed to a Damned Afterlife, sentenced to this colourless limbo. Perhaps this was my punishment; to be driven mad by my own memories and torments. The idea of it shook me to my core, I was _terrified-_

"Ah, you have awakened." Blinking, I turned my head to see _Lorik _of all people.

And he was s_ewing._

I watched as he pulled the needle through the fabric, tugging it gently. I could only stare at the strange sight, my mind refusing to make sense of this.

"What?" it was the only logical, intelligent response I could come up with. The hand paused in its task, black eyes regarding me.

"You are injured. I am mending your shirt." Said fabric was lifted in indication and I indeed recognised the filthy over-shirt as my own. But, I was still perturbed. Glancing upwards, the vision of the empty expanse greeted me once more- only for it to rustle slightly at the wind outside.

_It was the tent canvas_.

I had woken up in my cot, not even aware I had passed consciousness. Throwing my arm over my eyes in unguarded relief, I barked a harsh laugh, silently thanking whatever Deity had decided to spare my pathetic self.

I decided it was perhaps better to not overestimate my own abilities in future; the fear of being so close to death lingered on me longer than I cared to admit. Combined with the unsettled feeling I had been exposed to since setting foot on land, I was becoming something of a poor excuse for a Death Knight- and I didn't know if that was a good or bad thing.

* * *

A/N- Two again today as the last chapter was _really_ heavy and I thought that it might be better to leave it on something a little lighter.


	12. Chapter Eleven- Premature Hope

"The good news is that the majority of your people are mostly unharmed. The bad news is that they're holding off against the Horde and losing."

Sitting around a table in a private room in the inn, three Argent Crusade officers and three of the Valiance Expedition discussed the current situation. It had been two days since their landing in Northrend, the Crusade's first battle with the native giants only earlier that day. Ryndan was tired, aching and troubled.

Deep into the night, Vice Admiral Keller relayed the news of the Scout's report as soon as it was received; the Argent Crusade Captain had nearly made it to his cot tonight before being summoned. Nearly.

"Losin' how?" asked McGreaves, his greying eyebrows furrowed deep.

"According to the report, they've managed to salvage most of the wreckage to build a barricade between them and the Horde. There seems to be a few injured, but the scouts couldn't climb down the cliff-face to speak with them without risking injury, and I'm sorry, but we need these reports desperately." A faint murmur of discontent and agreement went through the five. Ryndan knew he was right, without the reports a rescue mission couldn't be mounted, but even so, just talking with the stranded would be a boon to their hope.

"Scout Valroy said she tried to signal them but was interrupted by a Horde patrol," Keller said. Ryndan made a mental note to personally thank her for bringing this information in earlier than expected- she was supposedly due tomorrow around midday but had left her post early to arrive tonight to deliver this information. She may have saved many lives.

"And this chart is accurate?" Ashwood indicated to an incredibly detailed map laying on the table.

The Howling Fjords seemed even larger than Ryndan imagined admiring the illustrated vellum. Small objects rested atop the map, enacting The Stranded's current position and situation far on the north east corner; the initial targeted landing site of the Argent Crusade and Valiance Expedition. Other items and hand-written notes represented the whereabouts of various other settlements in the vicinity. 'Westguard Keep' to the west and a 'Fort Wildervar' to the north were marked in fashionable, printed letters. Due south of the central 'Valgarde' was a written scrawl of 'Unnamed Horde encampment'. Similar to this now marked the Horde site to the north-east. Red crosses symbolised known Vrykul towns and outposts.

"Down to a _T_, Valroy is one of our top scouts and her information has never failed to be correct. She reports no sign of the Forsaken fleet, but a dirigible seems to be in use at the Horde base."

"Whit in the name o' The Light is a '_der-i-j-abul'_?" McGreaves scoffed, his accented tongue tripping on the word.

"A large flying balloon-ship, from what I've heard," spoke Captain Taylor. He was leaning far back in his chair, fatigued from the past two days. Beside him sat a stern looking woman in perhaps her fifties; Captain Redfield of _The Maiden of the Sea_. Both had arrived yesterday morning in order to discuss this situation. She was rather quiet, Ryndan thought, as she only gave words of greeting when arriving and saying little else.

"A _balloon?_ Y'serious? How cun it fly, eh? That's just daft, it'd pop at ony moment!" His dwarven superior looked incredulous at the idea, prompting Taylor to launch into an explanation of the theory behind such a feat. Ryndan had never seen a dirigible before, but his elder sisters had once told him of such a vehicle upon returning from a trip to Lordaeron before. McGreaves didn't seem to grasp the concept very well, seemingly blasphemous to someone of a race that preferred to burrow into the earth.

"_Gentleman_, I would prefer to discuss vehicular aeromechanics at another time, if you please," Commander Ashwood chided. The men hushed and turned their attention back to the map, looking a little sheepish, much to Ryndan's amusement. Content that peace was restored, Ashwood stood up and spread her long hands lightly over the map, tracing a route from Valgarde, through the fjord inlet and following along the eastern coast north.

"How long would this take to traverse?" she asked directly of the two Naval commanders. Their chairs creaked as they both leaned forward, regarding her route carefully.

"Depending on the ice, a day, perhaps. Longer if we have to cut our way through icesheets or sail around them." Redfield stated. Taylor nodded.

"Aye, we've got the equipment to break it if needed, but it would take longer."

"So this is doable? Is tomorrow too soon?" Ashwood asked eagerly. Focussed intently on the two, Ryndan hoped the answer would be 'no'.

"Unfortunately, yes. I have four ships arriving any time between now and tomorrow carrying livestock that I need to redirect accordingly. Once those ships are sent on their way you will have my, Liz's and Cray's ships for transport. Two days from now would be best, I'm afraid," Taylor grimaced, understanding the frustration of waiting. Ryndan's kaldorei Commander gave no impression of irritation, only gratitude.

"Very well, I will ask for volunteers among the Crusaders tomorrow and leave the rest here in defence of the port. Thank you Captains and Vice Admiral, your cooperation and help has been well received. May The Light bless you," she finished, pushing her chair back. The rest of her company nodded in respect and watched her leave the warm room. As cosy as his furs were to keep him insulated at night, there was nothing quite like a warm fire that the inn offered.

"She's dealing with it well," Taylor murmured. McGreaves grunted and jumped off of his chair.

"Aye, she's a fierce warrior an' an even fiercer wummin," he said. Ryndan watched his commanding officer waddle over to another table. Wine, bread and cheese had been lain out for them but none were so hungry as to feast until business was dealt with. Feeling his own stomach grumble, Ryndan stood to fetch something also. It had been a long day and he had not been able to stop since breakfast, not with the attack and the aftermath. Battle normally drained his appetite. However, he couldn't recall the last time Commander Ashwood ate.

Ryndan felt sore on her behalf. It had been soon revealed among the troops that the Commander's younger brother had been on the ship bound for Valgarde; the one that now hung as a crude talisman to warn intruders. Loss was a large part of the game of war, and there were two ways to deal with it. Let the grief consume you or channel the grief elsewhere- like on the battlefield. Ryndan knew from experience how often those two lines crossed paths and blurred into each other, though.

The third option was to disallow anyone close to you in the ranks to save the grief from becoming a reality, but more often than not it was an impossible task. Especially when sharing such close quarters with so many fellow soldiers. Ryndan sat down with his meagre meal.

"What are the Crusade's plans?" Keller voiced in the sombre silence.

"Awaiting orders. The ships with the most senior of the Crusade including Highlord Fordring were forwarded to Dragonblight to take refuge in Wintergarde. They will plan what to do with us scattered like this and inform us in due course," Ryndan supplied. It was simply a waiting game. It could take up to a month or more to receive word, Ashwood had told him. The terrain, attack on the flagships and loss of numbers adding in more complications to the overall plan. They hadn't even reached Northrend properly before the dice started to roll poorly for them.

"And the Ebon Blade?" Now _there_ was a good question.

"Making their own way here, apparently. They have a few Crusaders with them, but since they donated more than three quarters of their ore, armour and weaponry to the Argent Crusade's use, they're serious in their alliance. They intend to seek out the runaways and meet up with us later. From what I was informed of, the most direct route into Icecrown is via the north of Dragonblight," Ryndan pointed to the area marked so in the map, trailing his finger up to the passage in the north. "The rough idea at the time of departure was to establish our foothold on Northrend here," he indicated to the northeast, "and push our way west and north to this passage." However that was now no longer an option, leaving everyone to wonder what the new strategy was going to be. Right now he was just going to concentrate on training the troops in combat and keeping their exercises up. McGreaves was in charge of their more religious education and overseeing the prayers

Nodding his respects to his elders, Ryndan left the room. A tray of ale was on its way up to them as compliments from the bar, _or perhaps even Ashwood_ he speculated, eyeing five tankards instead of six. Their number now down to four, he was sure that McGreaves would have his share instead.

* * *

Colliding with a body unseen caused me to fall back a few steps in the mud, dirtying me further than I already was.

"Oi, watch it, will ya?"

Ignoring the woman's comment I pushed past her, continuing up the hill to my intended destination, slightly conscious of the dirt now splattered up my breeches and caking my leather boots.

Having been just under a week in Port Valgarde, I had to say it had been very boring.

My 'job' mainly entailed goods-moving and debris-clearing. Inhuman strength appeared to have its pros as I was designated into the labourer taskforce of the harbour, but I was kept busy enough. My current assignment had me transferring dried goods and cheese-filled crates from the piers to the tavern. Most people kept out of my path, having easily been identified as 'one of those' from the offset. It suited me fine, I kept to myself and my tent when not needed. Now permanently off the 'front-lines' of the Port after my fiasco two days in (and good grief, Firesworn had ripped into me about _that_), I found myself growing even more restless as time wore on. The sound of blade on blade had never sounded so enticing as when I was no longer able to participate in it. Now whenever a raid happens upon the port, I bury myself into the back of it to save the sounds of Vrykul dying tempting me into the fray.

My armour was broken beyond repair- not that there had been much to it anyway. My 'injury' had healed before I had awoken, according to Lorik. Checking it soon after coming to, I had seen nothing but a thin white line on my waist where the halberd had struck.

After giving me a berating of a lifetime, the _Grandiose Captain Firesworn _had told me straight up that I was in the way on the battlefield.

_"You are a liability and I will _not_ have Crusaders risk their lives for your carelessness. This incident is evident of your immaturity on the battlefield. Had Edrikson not saved you, risking his own neck to take down the Vykrul, you and I would not be having this conversation," _he had said.

I had been more than lost for words at his verbal onslaught. Not-so gently reminding the long-eared git that I had been the one to save him at Light's Hope, I had been disregarded anyway.  
_  
"You seem to have forgotten that it's your sorry ass I saved at Light's Hope!" _I had jabbed my finger at his chest- which sat eye level with me- in indignation_. "I did not go out there to screw up deliberately, and I sure _as hell_ couldn't care about how many Crusaders saved me because _I'm not worth it_! So back off with your crass commentary!_"

He had grabbed my pointed hand, bending low to meet my eyes. His sharp eyes had glowed ominously green as they stared at me hard.

_"Listen here _girl_, the only reason I tolerate you is on the word of Walden, but he's not here and _I _am your Superior therefore in charge of you. A stunt like that from one of my men would have you shipped and demoted. _You_ however, reside at the bottom of the chain as it is. You are not, and I repeat, _not_ going back on the frontlines until you can prove to me that you are capable of holding your own." _

His voice had been deadly quiet and the only other sound following his speech was his heavy breathing . Glancing away, he had started a little, releasing his hand from where neither of us had noticed; my left arm that he grabbed in his anger. Standing tall, all contact between us lost, he'd turned swiftly out of the infirmary tent leaving me to seethe. With hindsight, I could see why I shouldn't be fighting, having reached a similar conclusion about my mortality after regaining conscious. Even so, he had pissed me off.

I was livid for the rest of the day following. Seething in my tent that night I had vowed to get the better of him, to show him I was not as low as he made me out to be.

A day and an awkward conversation (or semi-interrogation on my part) with Lorik later, I had found myself standing outside of a slightly-fancier tent than my own, trying to talk myself into doing what I was here to do. After the previous day's incident and some calming down of my own, I reckoned that I should at least thank the soldier who risked his life for me- (or at least I told myself that's what Tal would tell me to do). Lorik was kind enough to listen to my mumbled request and spoke on my behalf with Captain Too-tall-for-his-own-good, later coming back with a name and tent allocation- one _Sergeant Edrikson_, tent number thirty six. And here I found myself. Soldiers seemed to have little more spacious tents depending on rank, or so I could gather with comparing this one to my own shabby little pegged-down-sheet. There was one little problem however- I had had no idea what to say to him.

_"Hello, you saved my life yesterday, cheers."_

_"Greetings, many thanks to you and your kin for risking yourself for my being."_

_"Hail, we are Argent brethren and thou hast risked thine own life for mine unworthy soul, you have mine eternal gratitude."_

All of which would have been responses that I'm sure that the Highlord of the Argent Crusade himself would be proud of; however, my current speech capabilities whenever anyone walked past me resided of _'umm_'. Eventually, stone-cold-determination to one-up Firesworn won out and I'd moved to the tent flap, announcing my entrance loudly and clearly- only to find the tent empty.

Of course.

Two cots, barely three feet between them were neatly made. A rough wooden chest stood at the top of one cot, the other had plate armour stack neatly on top of it, recently polished judging by the nearby rags. A washbowl- chipped around the edge- and soft shoes poke out from underneath the left cot, as well as a hessian sack. All in all, a decent well-equipped tent. It just lacked one thing- its occupants and one in particular.

I returned to the tent two days afterwards to the same result and concluded that I would just have to find Edrikson by accident. I wasn't going to be asking Firesworn at any rate where he was. I had at least tried so that's score one to me in the good-moral-character department. We haven't spoken since the chastising and we avoided each other happily in the meanwhile. Now, six days after landing in Northrend I was allocated into doing the menial, labour work leading a boring, uneventful existence.

Shifting the dried goods crates in my arms, I walked around the rear of the inn. Swiftly entering the backdoor and depositing my crate in the kitchens, not stopping for thanks, I exited to a drizzle of rain. Judging by the dark clouds overhead, the Port was due in for a long, wet afternoon. Not bothered, I made my way to the forges, eager for work to give myself something to do. Many still milled about in the rain, some donning cloaks after grimacing upwards. Draped in my trademark plain shirt and breeches, I must have stood out somewhat to those who needed to care for their health. Wet or not, I wasn't likely to catch a cold. Wherever I walked I received a wide berth.

The smithies waved me away gruffly so I offered a shrug in return. The gryphon master didn't need any feed brought up and the engineers…kept to themselves really. My hands were twitching with unease and boredom. I wasn't even allowed to participate in the Argent's practice drills and daily exercises. Damned Firesworn… Terowin had approached me soon after, all smirk and smug, offering to train me instead, but I simply told him where he could shove his offer and left even more irritated than I'd been with the Captain.

"Oh, it's you again," stated a feminine voice, directed to me it seemed. I turned to see the woman I had bumped into earlier. Even though she stood a good few inches taller than me, had _quite_ a noticeable bust, and an ugly purple burn trailing down one side of her face, it was her bright orange hair gathered in a high-tail that drew my eyes first. _By the Light_ that was garish.

"Yes, it's me. May I help you?" Tal would be _so_ proud of my manners. She shifted her weight onto one foot, jutted a hip out and crossed her arms.

A business stance if I ever saw one.

"Yeah, I heard there was Death Knight Woman in port; I just didn't notice it was you earlier beneath those crates. I've never seen a female Knight before, all the others passing through have been men. You're still a girl, really, aren't you? And an Elf to boot, go figure," she said absently, not hiding her wandering eye up and down my body.

"Look here-" I started as she cut across me, uninterested;

"Huh, you don't have that echo that the others did…your voice sounds totally normal-well, mostly, a bit croaky there. Why is that? Is it because you're female?" she leaned in to get a closer look at me.

"I- what?" She spoke _really_ fast.

"Or are you _really_ a Death Knight? Maybe you're just really ill, I mean look at you, good grief you need to eat." Who the hell does she think she is? _Was she still eyeing me_? Manners be damned.

"Listen here, you, I don't need to-"

"Is your name Cersae?" That drew me up short. I just gaped at her. If the barrage of questions wasn't enough to disarm me, then her knowledge of me was.

"How did you-?"

"So it is you…" she commented quietly. _'It's me'_? Is this woman even sane? I realised I looked like a fish before answering.

"What on earth are you- do you know what, never mind. I'm not here to be ogled at or interrogated." I pushed past her for the second time that day, totally unprepared for;

"You're just like he described, you know." I stopped dead, the rain falling down my neck and back. She …didn't mean…?

"Like _who_ described?"

"When I caught wind of a Death Knight seeking someone of his name…well I had to come see." She pursed her lips in thought.

"Who?" I demanded, I mean, she couldn't mean... She gave an all-too-amused grin in my direction. This woman was really pissing me off.

"Ed."

What?

She couldn't be serious. She said it so non-chalantly that I nearly, _nearly_ dismissed it.

"You don't know him." I challenged. Something small sparked in my chest, like a piece of tinder trying to light- I tried to quash it.

"Oh sure I do, hon. In fact I'm _very _familiar with him." It was a lie. I hadn't made it a secret that I was seeking him out in the Port. I had asked the few willing to converse with me if they could offer any information on the man. I knew it to be a bit of a long shot since first, the person being asked would have had to been in port for a long time. Second, said person would need to have _met_ Edmund when he passed through here (which according to Mort, was his first destination in Northrend). And third it relied on the person _actually remembering_ a man out of many passer-throughs that came into port any time in the last year or so.

Alright, so it's a _very_ long shot, I know.

"I don't believe you," I said and made to move once more. I was getting tired of her games now.

"Taller than me by a few inches, dark, shaggy hair, shoulder length. Gorgeous brown eyes and a voice that could buckle your knees." She drifted off giving a dreamy look. Not_ quite_ the description I'd use but it was close…His face appeared more and more often lately in my mind, the details becoming sharper.

"You forgot the long scar across his nose and cheek," I lied. She threw her head back and just laughed at me.

"He didn't have a scar, dear; just a nose that looked like it had been broken once-too-often. He had a long one crossing his chest from shoulder to hip though." She added thoughtfully, tapping her chin. By the Light, she _did_ know him. I slowly turned to regard her. The rain had grown heavier but she seemed undisturbed by the soaking her faded white shirt was undergoing. Her face looked a little sinister with the marred skin of her own.

"Where is he?" is all I said. She simply smiled at me and waved a finger in my direction.

"Ah, ah, ah, I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine first. I mean that figuratively, of course, but I'm always up for it in practice," she winked, she _actually winked_ at me.

Unable to protest, surprised as I was, she linked arms with me and dragged me away, chattering all the while about the Port and weather. I followed along compliently, not sure who or _what_ this woman was, only that she might have the information I needed on Edmund- and that was more important than anything I could possibly suffer with this woman.

And so I fell in lot with Luciya, master engineer, infamous in Port Valgarde and the biggest pain in my neck since Terowin Darksworn.


	13. Chapter Twelve- Of Priests & Prostitutes

_Eight days after arriving in Northrend.  
_  
She was a whore. Or at least that was the gist of her description of what she did in Port Valgarde. An engineer officially, Luciya would happily accompany anyone- and she meant nearly _anyone_- by payment of the most bizarre: fresh fruit.

That was her primary payment method, I had been told. Fresh fruit was hard to acquire in a new land, especially one so wintery where crops were hard to cultivate- and being a non-meat eater she valued it highly. So people in port would buy some from the traders in secret whenever new ships drew into bay before the official unloading just to spend a night in her company. She also accepted rich materials ("Silk is the best"), jewellery ("Some fine metal to be smelted there") and on the odd occasion- _poetry._

"I don't understand the poetry part," Father Favian commented, taking a bite of, what looked to be, stale bread.

"She's a hopeless romantic, is our Luci. Read her the right words and she'll swoon like a fairy tale heroine," Bart interjected, ignoring the glare from 'Luci''.

Unsure as to how I found myself at night with this group, all I could do was listen to their familiarity. Two prostitutes, a Cleric from the Crusade, a quiet hunched-over dwarf, a former Knight-Commander to the Lich King and a _not-quite-a-Death-Knight_ Death Knight sitting around a campfire enjoying each other's company, eating broth and mending clothes.

The Cleric was a surprise.

Terowin and I had an uneasy truce; not officially 'friends' in any form of the word, but simply putting up with each other's company due to the fact that few others would. It was a better-of-the-two-evils situation with the alternative being sitting alone in my poxy tent with bugger all to do. He wasn't there for me anyway- he was there for Luciya and her _assets._

"So, by pleasuring others, you keep peace in Valgarde?" the Cleric surmised. I was intrigued by how unperturbed he was by the conversation, in fact he showed a keen interest.

"Something to that effect," nodded Bart. "By ridding of sexual frustration -pardon the terminology Father- those far from home, family, wives and lovers etcetera, are more at ease. In my experience there's less tension, less fighting and people are generally more relaxed." He shifted to view his work better by the firelight, "My dance card is no longer full every night though, that generally only happens whenever a new boatful arrives- what a boom in business!" the grin on his face was nearly infectious.

Bartheleus was a kaldorei man of very slender build. Fondly referred to, and introduced as, Bart, he also sold his body for more traditional payment as well as masquerading as a tailor by daylight. Their reason for their late-night activities being that _happy in the shorts was happy in the port._

"Amen to that- no offense Father," Luciya waved, spluttering food crumbs out of her mouth, "I accumulated so much when that Menethil boat came in a few weeks ago-that one that Jerry arrived on! Oh and that other one a few months back; do you remember, with the Legion?" Despite the long scar covering half of her face, she was still very expressive when talking.

"I had a busier clientele three boats ago, lots of women on that particular one and a few nights involving three of us-" he coughed, sparing an embarrassed glance from under a curtain of long, blue hair to the eldest in the group. "Again, no offense intended Father. I don't mean to upset your _ah_, sensibilities."

"Fear not, Bartheleus, I assure you that I have seen far worse in my lifetime and heard even cruder tales," He chuckled. The man kept his cowl up throughout most of the time I had seen him. Even though it was a large port, I hadn't seen him during the daytime, mostly at night when sitting around a campfire was all there was to do. His grey-white beard and whiskers had grown a little shaggy to suit him, but his deep voice was calm and collected from what I had heard. He was a very comfortable man to sit with, I surmised.

"So I've heard! You're not really my type of catch, I have to admit, sir, but that doesn't mean I can't cast my net out to you if you need," Luciya chimed in, a spanner now in her mouth and fingers tinkering something delicate; her _more-vegetable-than-broth_ meal emptied from her wooden bowl. She asked as though offering to break bread with the man, such was a trivial thing she suggested. I don't recall knowing a lot about intimate relations but this did seem unusually outwith social boundaries. The Cleric seemed mortified at the idea however, which amused the group- even the silent dwarf gave a deep chuckle.

"Forgive me child, but I will decline. I am one with my faith and that is enough," he said, though his voice seemed a little strained. Despite showing the good man some deep respect, the two companions didn't seem embarrassed or ashamed of their professions at all- in fact they embraced it and made it their own. Could I…maybe do the same? Somehow turn my situation around into sometime more positive? A loud voice, sounding rather like Walden and Firesworn combined, gave a large resounding _NO_ in the back of my mind.

"Well you wouldn't be the first _Of-the-Cloth_ either of us have had and I doubt you'd have been the last, but your recent shipload is bad for our occupation," Bart continued, Luciya now fighting a frustrating battle with her small project- there seemed to be cogs involved. "A little bit stuck up, I can't even drop hints to any of them for fear of a lecture about The Light or _how bad my ways are_. I'm not sure if you know, but going that long without- well, it's painful, Sir." To my, and possibly everyone's surprise, the Cleric just laughed.

"I can imagine. I'm sorry however, I cannot openly advocate your, ah_, vocation_ to my Crusaders. However, it is interesting to seek this from another point of view," he said thoughtfully.

"Many people do things they don't want to just because they have no other choice," Terowin spoke, finally joining in the conversation. "Few around them are often aware that it is their only path." He continued sharpening his dangerous looking axe with a whetstone-he had been doing it for so long, the noise had faded into the background. I doubted it needed it, but it gave him something to do I suppose. My own standard-issue blade was confiscated, leaving me longing for it, to also see it stained like Terowin's.

"That's very profound for you," I noted. My hands, unlike everyone else's were empty. The only thing they were doing was grasping each other tightly in an effort to hide my restlessness. "Any particular story behind that statement?" I thought of him at his near-execution, pleading for life to exact revenge for his brothers' deaths. Did he truly have no choice?

"Not particularly." He turned, giving me a direct look, "_You,_ however, should be more than familiar with the concept." I didn't care for his condescending tone, so I turned to ignore him again, instead watching the ever silent dwarf stitch together scraps of leather. What an ass that elf was. Thinking of how much _two_ elves had now aggravated me, I had to wonder if there was just something about them that made them naturally annoying.

"What made you join the Crusade, Terowin," Luciya asked, - her mechanical item lay discarded at her feet in frustration. I saw out of the corner of my eye, unsurprised as he spun a quarter-turn to view her full on.

"Interesting story behind that, actually," he smirked, throwing a look his side, "I made something of a deal with them. All of my information about the Master's plans, strengths and weaknesses in exchange for my life." Luciya looked awed and leaned forward on her knees to hear more. It was hard not to notice that bust of hers from underneath her plain shirt and leather braces. A cloak was draped around her shoulders, but she probably didn't notice it.

"So, how can they guarantee your loyalty then? I mean, theoretically couldn't you just lie to them about that information? For instance, deliver them into His clutches, almost?" Luciya; not one to mince words or sugar-coat them.

It was impossible not to take an interest in the conversation really; everyone had paused their tasks and leaned forward- even Tonie, the dwarf was listening in. We were all eager to hear his answer- I know I had thought about it more than once, hence where some of my distrust of him stemmed from.

He smirked once more, this one sinister in the flickering campfire as night drew darker. He leaned closer to Luciya, no doubt getting a better view of her chest as well as making an attempt to the dramatic.

"That is a simple one, my dear. In fact I'm sure that our dear _Cleric_ here could even explain it in full detail," He threw a wicked grin at Father Favian before resuming. "Now, have you ever-"

"GREEN! Where is that damned contraption of yours?" All heads turned to see a large, overbearing man storming towards our small party. Sporting an eyepatch and a bandage-wrapped torso, I couldn't help but wonder how he wasn't cold this late at night. I suppose the inordinate amount of chest hair probably kept him warm. He spat as he shouted, stopping behind Luciya. She made no move to acknowledge him, simply tinkered on with her project- when did she pick it back up?

"Green! Answer me, woman!" Luciya started to hum, frustrating the man more. The rest of us watched on carefully, or at least Bart, the Cleric and I did. Terowin seemed to be withholding a laugh. Tonie had bent his head low once more, stitching leather scraps together, the scene before him labelled boring, perhaps. Even in the firelight, this intruder's flush was evident.

"Luciya," said Bart carefully, not sure what might set this man off. She looked up curious, and in mock surprise, turned to the man seething behind her like a rabid wolf.

"Zorek! How _good _to see you. When did you arrive? Do you know I was _just _on my way to see you this very instant to tell you that this-" she waved around her shapeless metal apparatus, "- is nowhere _near _completion and to ask you to sit tight a little longer." I could actually see a vein throbbing on his bald head- that cannot be healthy.

"Curse you woman, I tasked you with this weeks ago!" Luciya looked unconcerned by the threating tone directed towards her.

"Yes, yes, all in a day's work, Guard-Captain, but if only I had the book…" she waved her spanner off-handedly, turning back to her work. If I hadn't seen her working on it for the last while, I wouldn't have known that she wasn't even doing anything to it. She was hell bent on winding this man up. Judging by his twitching jaw and that vein, she was doing a pretty good job.

"You know damn well I'm not retrieving that damned manual for you. Just hurry up and figure it out or I'll send your ass back to Stormwind!" Bart jumped up at this, walking round to the man. His sudden action nearly made me miss Luciya's flinch.

"Tell me Zorek, when did you and I last catch up? How about an ale on me at the tavern? I have something to discuss with you about the new recruits' uniforms…" Bart said cautiously. Zorek let out a loud breath in a cold cloud, which was probably for the best as he was one step shy of frothing at the mouth, before accepting. With one last grunt of anger at Luciya, the two men walked slowly away, Bart distracting the man into calming. When they were out of earshot, Luciya shot out a loud curse.

"Aargh!_ That man_! Would getting the damned manual be so difficult?" she proclaimed exasperated. Her chest was heaving in anger, much to Terowin's amusement, I noted.

"Take one deep breath, child. And release it. Again, and release." This seemed to bring her mood down a little, but at the expense of her losing some miniature screws from her device. She threw the item into the campfire, not even bothering to contain her cussing in front of her Cleric friend. I had watched this exchange with a detached curiosity at their behaviour- the tightening of her jaw, the soft touch Favian offered on her arm, the object now turning bright red in the flames…

I was reaching in to retrieve it when I heard him say:-

"Maintain your cool and calm like Cersae here, I'm sure she could offer you advice on dealing with your emotions." My fingers stumbled over the device, dropping them in the burnt ashes at the base of the fire, but I quickly recovered and pulled it free of the flames. 'Dealing with my emotions' – what a laughable idea! And I was not the only one to think so, a deep baritone voiced a sinister laugh.

"My dear _Cleric_, you are truly charming," Terowin overstated.

"How so, Terowin Darksworn?" Now, I have no idea when or how it started, but these two had some strange rapport that allowed them all sorts of social privileges- straight up (possibly intended, sometimes banter-y) disrespect, openly questioning each other's actions and philosophies, even underhanded name-calling that just seemed comfortable with them both. It was a bizarre friendship, if that was what it was, to witness upon. Perhaps they had met on the boat crossing here, because I certainly didn't keep Darksworn occupied socially when we travelled. How the Cleric put up with him was beyond me.

"Well, for one, she would need to actually _possess_ emotions to be able to deal with them." He left as was while Luciya and the priest looked between us, absorbing the information. I couldn't dispute him for it was true. What others experienced joy and sadness at; I felt a big fat nothing. The lack of it didn't disturb me, I hadn't even noticed that I didn't react when I should have felt something, but I knew that it upset Mort. He had indeed told me as much before we parted ways in his 'I will get you back to normal' speech.

"Is this true? You feel…nothing?" Luciya whispered. She was sometimes so like a child it was hard to remember she was supposedly a few years older than me. Right now with her wide eyes and loose, waist-length orange hair, she indeed seemed infantile. I merely shrugged in response.

"What about at Light's Hope Chapel? Or during the battles?" she pushed on, my answers rounding up to a shake of the head each time. Nope, nada, nothing. "What about your Death Knight training?" She didn't know about my memory loss so the next line of questioning shouldn't have been surprising. "Or when you slaughtered everyone for The Lich King? Did you honestly not feel even the slightest hint of remorse? Regret? Guilt?"

I don't know what surprised me more- the near irresistible urge to flinch or that she wasn't even remotely accusatory when she questioned me. She could have asked me about the weather in the same inquisitive tone and not have sounded strange.

I didn't think my own personal torment counted; it wasn't the answer she was looking for. "No, I can honestly say that I feel- and felt- nothing," I supplied.

And then silence.

Even Cleric Favian seemed to have succumbed to a thoughtful- or troubled, I wasn't sure- state at my admission. A foreign sensation came over me, and later the next day, alone on labour duties, I figured out why- I didn't want to lose their company and the conversation that had just occurred was in danger of jeopardising that.

"You are surprised? Look at her! She's paler than the snows of Icecrown, there are corpses centuries-dead that are healthier looking than her and you just witnessed her reach into a fire to come out unscathed!" Terowin effused with undiminished glee. Suddenly my sword on his throat was looking very attractive. "She is not even _human,_ how could she possibly feel anything? We are unfeeling creatures born in Death and Blood, do not forget that, _Cleric_." The target of that speech simply looked hard at Terowin, something unspoken passing between the two.

"But…but she- you speak with us and you seem normal…I mean, I know you're…well…dead, but you don't _feel?_" Luciya seemed to be the only one struggling with the concept of my mental and emotional neutrality. I wanted to tell her otherwise, but what could I say? It went on like this for a while, Luciya seemingly very upset at, or with me. Perhaps even for me, I didn't know.

"She will feel though. Eventually." Three heads turned in quick succession to the Death Knight at the sound of his voice. "Arthas made sure we would be the ultimate weapon in his arsenal, and so when we are Turned we are instilled with something even worse than the need for revenge or the enjoyment of a simple slaughter." No one spoke, I wasn't even sure if the other two were breathing now. There was just something in that dulcet voice of his that crept into our minds, grasping something so primal that fear started edging its way out. It was a nasty habit of his.

He looked to me unwavering. "It starts with Agitation."

His hands started to move in a subtle regularity over his beloved axe.

"Shortly following it will breed to Restlessness."

**_"It will soon take a hold of you…_**

He was curving a whetstone over the blade as I had seen him do many a time.

"Restlessness will evolve to Vexation," another slice of the stone. Sparks flew.

"Vexation will spill over into Thirst."

**_…You will feel pain immeasurable…_**

A scrape across the edge.

"Thirst mutates into Bloodlust."

A final swipe along the armament. He placed the butt of it on the ground, the weapon looming menacingly overhead, dark stains highlighted by the fire.  
_  
__**There is only one remedy for the suffering…**_

"And the Bloodlust _must _be sated." He stood, placing his instrument over his shoulder and turned to leave, but not before-

"Not even you can escape The Endless Hunger, Little Sister."

**_…You are ready, Cersae._****"**


	14. Chapter Thirteen- (Un)Pleasant Surprises

_Twelve days after arriving in Northrend_

Depositing his armour in his tent for later polishing and setting his sword on his cot for cleaning, clad in his woollen underclothes, Ryndan allowed himself a long stretch before exiting and walking towards the bathhouse. The cold air filtered through the cloth and hit his sweat-ridden skin with a relieving delight. His limbs struggled against the cold without frequent exercise and his own age-old wounds tended to play up a little if the weather became too overcast or stormy. Today his body ached for different reasons.

Today's raid had been small. Eight Vrykul and four rabid wolves had sounded their horn in an attempt to demoralise the troops. It only fuelled them further, giving their own shouts and calls of aggression, showing the enemy that their efforts were for naught. The cannons fired first, unable to vitally injure before they had entered the field. The skirmish lasted perhaps a quarter of an hour, all eight giants falling one after another- but not without casualties. Two Defenders had died in the line of duty and one Crusader was critically wounded. Others merely added to their growing collection of scars and war trophies to show those at home. Healers did what they could from the back of the lines, but as soon as the coast was clear, they flooded the front of the gates checking each fallen and kneeling person.

Wolf meat was on the menu tonight.

It had been three hours since the onslaught, his group of Crusaders now recovering and tending their wounds-Ryndan making sure each of those under his care was fit or in need of attention. Most of the younger men tended to underplay their wounds; especially in front of their friends or female equivalents trying to boast invulnerability. He himself used to be guilty of it as a Private but most, as they experience it's dangerous to underestimate injuries, realise eventually that quick treatment is the best course of action.

In a strategy agreed on by Guard-Captain Zorek and himself, the Defenders and Crusaders were sorted into several groups with numbers ranging from twenty to thirty-five depending on skill levels. Each group was on standby for a few hours each or until an attack had taken place, allowing the rest to sleep, eat, train and care for their equipment. This then allowed for a constant cycle, day and night, of fighters at the ready for any surprise attack by their threat beyond the woods. There wasn't much they could do about the harpoons across the bay, however, merely deal with the aftermath of any hits. With a group of eight, only the group on call was needed, the next on the rota sitting ready in the event of a surprise follow on attack. Had the attackers had four or five more, the next troupe on call would have joined the fray.

His current overview of these large creatures gave Ryndan the idea that they weren't militarily experienced. They seemed to act on rage, anger and blood lust. This suited him fine- an angry enemy was a stupid one; their only advantage being their size. They threw their warriors at them like pebbles- throw them one at a time, it makes them easy to dodge and deflect. Throw a lot at once or a boulder, it makes it harder to avoid. If indeed they ever did try to attack the port with their entire 'army', Valgarde would certainly struggle, even with the presence of the Crusaders. Picking them off one-by-one was certainly doing a better job, less casualties on his and his ally's side too.

"- do you think she'd be interested?"

"Well, I didn't see any trinket or jewellery indicating marriage, so maybe she's available…"

Two voices, belonging to Corporal Jason and Sergeant Edrikson respectively filtered into his thoughts. Exiting from the bathhouse, he saw three figures, two young men and a lanky looking draenei, walking slowly towards him. The third- Corporal Danila- chimed in.

"Like she would sleep with a sap like you!" his Common was accented but the insult wasn't missed.

"Hey! I'm a good-looking guy!" Shoulder-length, fair hair, bright green eyes and freckles rounded up into 'good-looking' in this soldier's opinion. Ryndan would call it 'boyish', personally.

"Sure, if she's doped up on ale and rum_, then_ maybe she'd consider you" They continued walking up the hill towards the tavern, hair still wet from washing, ragged towels over their shoulders and cloaks on their backs, oblivious to their commanding officer standing a few feet away.

"Besides, it's not like you'd be allowed anyway _if_, and I say if in the barest sense of the word, she'd come within ten feet o' you," Edrikson laughed, hitting his friend on the shoulder.

"Ohhh but did you see those _legs? _I'd risk a telling off from Ashwood for those thighs to be wrapped around me," Jason sighed, his expression clearly fantasising just a scenario. His two friends merely laughed and jested.

"I wouldn't, but then again it wasn't exactly her legs that drew my attention," Edrikson vaunted with a smirk. His dark hair sat flat while wet; it was normally curly- something that his fellow soldiers never failed to let him forget, fondly calling him 'Curls' out with official situations. Ryndan found it amusing, his own name being simplified to 'Dan' by those near and dear to him. Most of the Crusaders had a nickname or two, some pleasant, some so insulting one's own mother may blanch at hearing them.

They drew closer, snickering amongst themselves.

"Yes, I'd risk a court-martial for all of that-" he drew the outline of a woman in the cold air with two hands, savouring the curves and perhaps exaggerating the indent of the waist.

"Oh really? Then perhaps you'd like to tell me more about this escapade of yours while running laps around the camp stark naked, Corporal Jason?" Ryndan stepped forward in front of the trio, earning three very quick, and very startled salutes.

"C-Captain! Sir! I – that is, I was only-" The poor boy stuttered. Barely twenty, if his memory recalled correctly, was now blushing crimson to the roots of his fair hair at being caught talking so vulgarly. Ryndan didn't blame him his desires, of course, but there were other ways to deal with them.

"At ease, soldiers. I hear we have a stew that doesn't involve Shoveltusk tonight so go get your fill." He dismissed them with a non-verbal warning. Scaring them was enough to make them think twice about their actions. They were good kids, most of them were, with only a few minor indiscretion's throughout the year. Ryndan was both glad and perturbed by having so many novices in his own particular contingent here. If they were here he could train them to their potential and beyond while getting mild combat experience in the shape of the Vrykul. However, they were indeed novices for a reason and small mistakes were costly on the real battlefield. Limitations and extents of power are learned in those times.

Such was war.

Light-hearted after shocking his underlings, he continued his journey. Entering the wooden longhouse serving as the bathhouse he was greeted by a rush of steam and warmth, instantly causing a sheen on his exposed skin. Several low-level cubicles lined the opposing walls, a long bench in the middle and a bubbling cauldron of warm water stood at the far end over an ever-burning fire. This was the men's bathhouse, the women's situated next door, though Ryndan found himself questioning that when he saw such a creature standing up in the far end cubicle, clothed and dismantling something.

The Knight Captain stood for a near minute, puzzled at this sight. His brow was furrowed while he retraced his exterior route in his mind before she noticed him. Giving a small 'oh' of surprise (or he assumed it was an 'oh', she had some sort of metal instrument in her mouth), she waved a hammer and mumbled something incoherent.

"Spanner out of your mouth, Luci," voiced someone unknown. Looking to his right he saw the outline of a kaldorei seated in a cubicle, naked shoulders visible above the door. His hair hung loose down his back, wet and dark.

"Sorry 'bout that! Ignore me up here, I'm just working on a wee project to improve bathing. Continue," said the woman breaking into a large smile, waving in his direction. In a barely lit place such as this- it only possessed four small windows- her carrot-coloured hair was very bright. Tied in a long plait down her back, many strands had come loose and became what he could only describe as _frizzy_ in the heat of the house. Nodding his thanks, he walked up to the cauldron; picking up one of the few stacked wooden buckets and filled it. He passed her on his way back down the hut. The cubicle door, off its hinges, sat against the wall while a large toolbox of bizarre looking items sat open at its entrance. The woman stood atop a crate, installing some sort of pipe or metal cylinders. Her sleeveless shirt was soaked with sweat down the back and her long arms were shining. Dark braces held up red leather breeches and he could now see exactly what his three subordinates had been discussing earlier. The indent in the figure's outline was _not_ exaggerated, it seemed. Indeed she was an attractive woman.

Choosing a spare cubicle directly across from the other Elf (and coincidentally about six stalls away from the woman), Ryndan divested of his shirt and breeches, taking great relief in relishing in the freedom that only air could offer. Several sores had developed over the course of the past two weeks from his armour rubbing through the padding. The cold of Northrend chapped his skin, making it far worse and painful. Sitting on the wooden stool in the cubicle, his clothes and towel hanging over the wooden partition and washed himself with the warm water, taking great care with his patches of raw skin. Talia was known to keep salves stocked up to treat these, but as she was currently situated west somewhere, it was unlikely that he could receive such a blessing here. A thought presented itself- _Perhaps he could ask Yazmina_?

"Son of a Quillboar!" echoed the only feminine voice in the vicinity.

"Language, Luciya, we have company," admonished her Elven friend.

"But Bart, this damned thing won't work!" and she swiftly kicked the metal cylinder, earning an even cruder oath to be omitted. "If Zorek would just let me spend more time designing _this_ rather than that stupid piece of crap for the launcher, then perhaps we could actually enjoy bathing!" Ryndan was reminded of a child in a strop, an interesting contrast for the twenty-something woman. He was used to bathing alongside fellow men, but the presence of a woman did offend his sensibilities a little. She couldn't see anything from her standpoint (he hoped) but even if she did, he had nothing to hide; simply his manners felt unsettled being naked in front of a lady.

"May I enquire as to what you are installing?" Ryndan asked, genuinely curious. Her face lit up much like his sisters' would at being given new clothes.

"Well, it's a S.H.O.W.E.r, that's a _Super Heat-Operated Water Effuser_- that I'm hoping to revolutionise bathing with." It's quick, efficient and so much more pleasant. But Zorek assigned me to trying to engineer a missing part for the harpoon gun they've acquired. They don't have the manual that my Chief Engineer wrote when he found the gun and he refuses to retrieve it. It would simplify the process _so much_!" Ryndan had heard about this from the Guard-Captain, Zorek only saying that 'he had people working on it'. He also questioned the legitimacy of the word 'Effuser', but as Common wasn't his first language, he deferred to her potentially greater vocabulary.

"Where's the Chief Engineer?"

"Dead, I think. Or I hope. I've heard about what they did to the archaeologists out there- I'd hate to think he's pinned to a tree dying slowly." Her voice dropped and he could now see the outline of a scar evident on the left half of her face, disappearing to below her shirt. He had simply thought it to be a shadow first.

"I see." This was news to Ryndan, Zorek not mentioning that the Chief Engineer was missing. The woman, 'Luciya', as the man across him had called her, sighed heavily.

She mumbled, "stupid man, he's just mad because I turned him down for a night of -,"

"Tell him the truth, Luci." rebuked the Night Elf. Ryndan found it entertaining that the few words the Kaldorei spoke were only to chide this mature woman. She huffed at her friend, the pair seemingly unbothered by his state of undress, even if he was censored behind a cubicle door.

_"Fine_. He overheard me commenting on his body odour months back and it's been downhill with our relationship since then." Ryndan laughed throatily, the man did have a distinct aura about him that indicated a lack of bathing. A decent man and caring Captain at heart, he felt, but his stench was rather overwhelming, even if they were on a 'chunk of frozen hell', as Keller had described it.

"And then some- you two are worse than cat and dog," the Night Elf said. He turned his attention to Ryndan, "Bartheleus Bluewind, Chief Tailor in these forsaken parts."

"Captain Ryndan Firesworn of the Argent Crusade," he offered to his elven cousin, feeling that perhaps mutual nudity should at least be shared with knowledge of the other's name.

"Whoa, quite a mouthful there, Cap'n," Luciya chuckled, giving him a mock salute. He smirked at her attempts to make him comfortable.

"Luciya Green; master engineer and pleasurable night time companion for _all _of your needs." She mockingly bowed, offering a wicked grin, all thoughts of comfort evaporating with the steam of the room, leaving Ryndan at a loss for words.

"Or you can have Bartheleus over there, if you are more inclined for _male company_," she was taking an inordinate amount of glee from this.

"Hush, Luciya. Ignore her, please; she's a terrible child, truly." 'Child' wasn't perhaps the word Ryndan would use to describe the woman leaning on the cubicle at the end of his row-that view indeed indicated anything but infancy. His subordinates would probably be pleased to hear she did indeed offer company to the likes of them- not that he would tell them. Bartheleus continued speaking, "and anyway, I haven't been with a man since I moved here from Stormwind. Forgive me Captain, I mean you no offense, you are not in any way unattractive. But given I'm now able to choose my clientele, I'm rather inclined to wipe that particular slate clean."

"No problem," the Captain offered weakly, not entirely sure what to say in this situation. Luciya's laughter was ringing out through the hut, her eyes crinkled shut in joy. Ryndan was tense.

"Apologies, Ryndan, I was merely teasing. I know you Crusade lot aren't so inclined as to intimate encounters." Not strictly true-many were in fact married, but he wasn't going to correct her in fear of more 'teasing'.

"Oh dear, it's been long since I laughed like that," she wiped away tears, presumably, from her scarred face. Bartheleus was also laughing deeply across the room, standing now so that his torso and hips were visible, towelling himself dry. Luciya started packing away her tools, her work evidently concluded for today. Lathering up the crude soap bar in the stall, Ryndan washed his short hair and drowned it in the remaining water from his bucket. As the floorboards of the hut were specifically sloped, the water ran out the underside of the cubicle into a drain running the length in the centre under the bench. Rubbing his stubble he surmised that a shave would be in order soon.

Dabbing himself dry, he quickly threw on his shirt and breeches, exiting the cubicle to nearly bump into Luciya as she made to exit also. Bart was carrying her toolbox.

"May I ask about your scar?" It was out before he could think about it, simply being up close to her he could see the fierce purple of it clearer, evidently a burn rather than a birthmark or blademark. It covered one side of her nose, part of her inner eye socket and lid and most of her left cheek. It dipped to under her chin and followed down past her collarbone to who-knew-where in her shirt. Ugly as it was, he could still see the symmetry in what she used to look like.

In all of this musing he had failed to notice until it was too late that her form had tensed- as did Bartheleus'- and her hands clenched. All trace of mirth had disappeared. He had overstepped the boundary, forgetting that she wasn't one of his soldiers.

"Engineering accident." Was all she muttered before hanging her head low and walking deliberately out into the ice-cold in nought but trousers and a thin shirt, the tall Kaldorei close and steady in her wake, watching over her.

"_Anar'alah_," He muttered, returning the bucket and exiting the hut. The odd pair walked away towards the forges, their colouring much brighter in the daylight. He sighed. Clever and brilliant he was at military strategizing, he was an idiot when it came down to interacting with _actual_ people. With a mental berating he stalked up towards to behind the inn, along the row of tents erected for the Argent Crusade's use and made his way to his own, preparing to thoroughly tell himself off in a long hour of polishing his armour and hammering out the kinks it had received from today's battering.

Only that would have to wait as a letter demanded his attention, the envelope decorated in familiar handwriting, sitting upon his cot, unopened.

Walden was requesting a parley.


	15. Chapter Fourteen- Favours

_Fifteen days after arriving in Northrend_

"Dan! There y'are, sit down lad- whur ya been?" his superior questioned.

"Talking with Yazmina then Zorek. They failed to mention that their chief engineer was missing and that they had a written operations manual for the harpoon launcher gun stolen from the Vrykul." Ryndan was tired, under the weather and annoyed. Such information could have been useful earlier. He told McGreaves as much.

"Apparently, according to Scout's intel, the engineer in question figured out how to work it and drew up a manual for it. He was in the middle of making it work when he was abducted. They sent one rescue team to find him and his other missing men only to discover that the manual has wound up underneath that hulking castle in some catacombs!" Ryndan cried, drawing a little attention from nearby patrons of the tavern. It was late at night now, most fed and milling or winding down for the night. After speaking with the woman in the bathhouse a few days ago, he'd been eager to find out more about this situation and it had only aggravated him more.

"The only thing that Zorek said was that he 'had people working on it'. Think about how vital that weapon could be in defending this port! We won't be here forever to help them, but if they can take down those opposing launchers then-"

"Aye, lad, Ah know whit ye're sayin', but it's no our place. We've got bigger fish tae be thinkin' aboot," he said wearily.

"What do you mean?" A bowl of stew and bread arrived from the bar, Ryndan thanked the steward, barely taking his eyes off of McGreaves.

"The scouts've finally reported back about the rescue team." His tone was sombre and that wasn't good. In the two weeks since they had arrived, morale had dropped dramatically in the soldiers. The chill in the air seemed to not only seep into their bones, but in their minds too. The large, towering stone structure seen in the far distance north loomed ominously, almost like Acherus had. It sent a challenge to any who dare oppose it. Apparantly, according to Keller, several groups of adventurers passing through the port had attempted the castle. None had returned as of yet.

"What do they report?" Ryndan inquired. McGreaves tightened his grip on his tankard, his face pulled into a grimace.

"A day after nearing the strand, a Forsaken ship drew near and opened fire. They managed to take it out, but the Horde've retaliated. They seem tae be bombin' the ships with summat. We don't know what yet, but they've got these ugly creatures flyin' o'er them and dropping summat on the decks. That's whit's causin' the delay." Ryndan felt the blood drain from his face. The two naval captains and Commander Ashwood- as well as a small number of volunteers- had over a week ago to rescue those on the strand. The mission was to take an expected three, possibly four days at most. Here at eight days after their departure, this was the first news they'd received. The creeping, unspoken thought that the boats might have been sunk also lurking in the back of the Crusader's minds of late, another reason for the drop in morale. The Horde presence in the north-east was revealed when Ashwood asked for volunteers, many jumping to the aid, others realising that their commanding officers had lied to them.

Needless to say, Ryndan hadn't slept well since stepping foot on Northrend.

"Are they-" he couldn't voice the words.

"No, the scouts donnae think so. They reckon it's a chemical thing, an' say that the crew're still moving aboot on deck afterwards. They're still anchored away fae the shore, but I don't know how much longer they can last Dan. The stranded must be runnin' oot of supplies by now." The elf pushed his bowl away, suddenly no longer appealing while the thoughts of fellow soldiers and many others starving. What could be done now? His mind was churning, trying to formulate a plan, there must be _something-_

"And there's more." McGreaves looked deep into his tankard, still mostly full which was an extreme rarity for him.

_More?_ thought Ryndan, _surely what else could be wrong? _

Swallowing hard, the older Paladin continued. "Some of the stranded are trying to push out, whether out of desperation or frustration, I don't know. But they're being shot down like dogs. And the Horde're-" he coughed, spluttering into his hand. "The Horde're burnin' 'em so we cannae recover the bodies." Ryndan wasn't sure what was harder to handle- watching his commanding officer barely contain his tears or the thought of so many dying while they were powerless. Ryndan's stomach churned-

"Sirs! I ..bring-" a young, soaked draenei ran up to the table, trying to catch his breath. " I bring…n-news- at.. the …the…" he coughed, McGreaves rounded the table quickly hitting him on the back, all sorrow gone from his face in this urgency.

"The Watchtower!" the Private, just joined the ranks before marching on the Plaguelands, collapsed to sitting, hand on his chest, breathing hard. Clasping the soldier on the shoulder, Ryndan and McGreaves leapt and ran out into the harsh weather towards the brick structure at the back of the settlement. Reaching the doors first, Ryndan hurriedly demanded entrance from the on-duty cloaked guards and pushed past the doors before they were barely open. Realising what- or who- lay within, he dropped to one knee, his mind frantically trying to make sense of the situation. McGreaves arrived a few moments later, gasped a near-expletive in his breathlessness and joined his subordinate on the floor.

"Nay, stand men, now is not the time for such overly-gross formalities." Their host said. Gingerly, they both rose, questions on their tongue as one of the most senior of the Argent Crusade was currently sitting slumped at a table, having his left arm treated. Two long grey locks hung wet either side of his face, his overgrown beard plastered to his thinned face, emphasising how exhausted he looked. Later Ryndan realised that two weeks of hard travel was enough to wear anyone out, and this man was well past his prime.

"My Lord Trueblade! Pray tell- what has happened? When did you arrive?" McGreaves probed, all pretence of a rowdy dwarf dropped. Trueblade waved his free hand slowly, indicating the two sit at the table with him. Three others- all garbed in Argent armour, sat also, each looking serious. Ryndan vaguely recognised one or two of them, but no names came to mind. Both Paladins unbuckled their sword-belts and strapped them across their chairs out of respect before sitting.

"Apologies for the commotion, gentlemen, it had been our intention to arrive undetected at night and seek your counsel come the morn." The gash on his arm was deep and ugly- the bracketed torchlight adding gruesome shadows to it. "We were attacked within the hour, only a little north of Valgarde- by the Giants." His aged face was taught with fatigue and perhaps- grief? Ryndan felt himself tense as he would before a battle, something was very wrong.

"The Argent Crusade had lost three good men and women this night, I pray the Light guide their souls to peace and rest." Trueblade chanted quietly.

"May the Light receive them forever more" Ryndan and McGreaves spake in response. A moment of silence among the small group passed.

"Forgive me for pushing, Lord Trueblade, but as far as I knew, you were on the flagship- and of course I am grateful for your assured safety but-" Ryndan asked, only a small amount of urgency in his voice. Indeed, to say they had been thrown off-balance was something understated.

"But what of the others, you ask?" Their Superior finished. Ryndan and his Dwarven Commander nodded dumbly. "I was transferred from the Flagship at a last minute request along with my men here." And so didn't land on the beach where the rescue ships were aiming this very moment.

"Aye, so wis I, actually, no' sure why tho'" McGreaves piped in, his stocky hands clasped tightly atop the table. This wasn't news to Ryndan, a few names listed on the flagship ended up on his own. After memorising the rosters, Ryndan had been stunned to see his shorter superior on deck.

"We were not on the Flagship, luckily. We had a greater task at hand, and for that reason we were moved. We landed in Dragonblight, making headway towards the Wintergarde Keep- however, our task required us to travel here urgently, and we left two weeks ago, only a day after making port." He hissed as a salve was applied to his wound, the healer being extremely gentle in his silent ministrations. Ryndan was desperate to know of this task, but knew that if the Lord wanted them to know, he would speak it to them.

"With your blessing, we seek refuge here to recuperate and to fulfil our duties," Irulon Trueblade bent his head towards McGreaves- the current Commander-in-charge while Ashwood was absent- and so did his reduced entourage of three. If the situation weren't so serious, Ryndan may have laughed at the stricken look of shock on McGreaves' face at being bowed to by _The_ Lord Irulon Trueblade. Stammering, he gave a stern "of course!" and flushed redder than Ryndan had ever seen him.

"Thank you, friends." The Lord looked as though he had aged in the four, perhaps longer, weeks since Ryndan had been in his presence. "It has been a while, has it not, Soren?" the older man smiled gently – though not wholeheartedly- at McGreaves, who visibly relaxed and clasped his friend's free hand with his own fondly, a strained smile of mutual sorrow mirroring Trueblade's.

"Aye, far too long."

* * *

_Sixteen days after landing in Northrend_

"Cers! _Cers_!"

Maybe if I ignored her, she'd go away. She was like a vulture or insect buzzing about a corpse, or me, specifically. I guess there wasn't much difference, really.

I watched from afar as Cleric Favian spoke to a grandly-armoured looking man, somewhat missing his presence around our usual campfire which was currently barren apart from yours truly. I didn't recognise the suited-up-to-the-hilt individual so perhaps he arrived recently. Either that or I really needed to start paying more attention to my surroundings and fellow people. However, certain distractions at the moment proved to make such observation difficult.

"Cer_sae..._"_ Buzz, buzz, buzz_. My hopes of ignoring her being the key to her departure were still in place. I mean, it _might_ work...

She yelled into my ear. "_CERSAE!_"

Then again, perhaps not.

In my defence, it took all of my willpower not to harm her, so that was some more points in the good-morale-character column, I felt.

"What?!" I demanded, turning to the fly in question. Flaming orange primarily presented itself in my vision, Luciya wearing her hair as two braids over her shoulders today.

"There's been a change in plans." Foreboding words if I've ever heard.

"Why?"

"I heard your Captain talking with Zorek yesterday- apparently the manual isn't in the village like I suspected." I felt like she was gearing up for a joke or riddle with a ridiculous answer for a punchline.

I made a mental note to berate her later for calling Firesworn 'my Captain'. Said man was standing nearby conversing with a, what are they called..._drain-eye_ woman...whatever Lorik was. I watched as they exchanged words and then a slip of paper. How interesting. "Where is it then?"

"It's in the catacombs underneath the giant's citadel! We're going to have to sneak in there instead of just the village!" And _there_ was the punchline.

"No, I don't think we are."

"But-"

"Look, I know you said that if I scratched your back you'd scratch mine, but don't you think you're relying on my skills- or lack thereof- a _little_ too much here?" It pained me to admit it, since she had vital information I was after, but even so, I wasn't that confident in what she asked of me. She shook her head, a large smile adorning her face.

"Not at all! I know you've been training with Terowin, so you'll be the perfect bodyguard to get the manual!" Hmm, I doubted it. True as it was, following his Endless Hunger monologue a few nights ago I decided to take him up on his offer of training to stave off the restlessness and ill-at-ease feelings I had suffered since landing here. It cost me my pride to do so, but he eventually said yes. And the bastard never let me forget the begging I was forced to do to get his help either. Asshole. We 'trained', and I use the word loosely, for my swordcraft was shockingly terrible, at night, generally when most of the Crusaders were bed-bound and couldn't report me to the oh-so-high-and-mighty-pointy-eared-elf-captain. How on earth does he cope with those ears anyway? And those _eyebrows…_

"Right, it's settled. The next time we have a heavy storm or rainfall at night, we're sneaking into the catacombs! Oh this is so exciting!" and like that she bounced away from me, leaving me speechless in her wake, alone.

* * *

"You've a bloody cheek to show your face to me," Ryndan said through gritted teeth. He had his 'friend' up against the cliff face with a forearm at his throat. Walden just looked at him.

"I asked for a meeting because no doubt you've got questions-" he started

"You are damned right I have questions! Let's start with this one- _how much did you know?!" _The Paladin pushed himself closer to the Forsaken at his mercy, applying more pressure to his neck causing him to choke.

"I swear- I didn't-" he hacked. "I didn't know!"

"Lies!"

"I'm not lying! Now back away so we can talk!" a sharp tip of a blade found itself aimed at Ryndan's hip, digging in enough to get the point across. Standing at an impasse, and breathing heavily, the elf sighed frustratingly and backed away from the Baron.

"Speak," he demanded, running a hand through his short, brown hair. Walden relaxed a little, but didn't retract his dagger.

"Look, Dan. I had no idea that the Dark Lady had already established a landing site there- I had been with the Dawn for the weeks leading up to Light's Hope, you _know_ this!" Yes, Ryndan remembered. It was one of the few facts that planted doubt in his mind about Walden's involvement with the Forsaken attack, and thus stopping him from killing the undead on the spot. Walden alternated his talents and time between his faction and the Dawn to get as much vengeance out on the Scourge as possible. I guess living in Stratholme at the time of the infamous purge had had an effect on his undead friend and his vengeance priorities.

"I had already left before I could reach word to you about it. I thought I was headed west, until they changed course on the ship- there was _nothing_ I could do," he pleaded exasperatedly. The sad part was, Ryndan wasn't sure how much to trust of him, such was his anger. In his mind, Walden was Undead and the Undead were slaughtering his fellow Crusaders and others- Walden just took the figurehead for all that whenever he thought about it. He was finding it very difficult to separate the two images of Walden- as his friend or as representative of the enemy in the northeast.

"What of this _weapon_ you are using on the ships?" he asked icily.

"Ah, the toxins. Well _that's_ what I wanted to talk about when I wrote the letter-"

"How did you get it into my tent? How did you know _I was here_?" Given the disorganisation of the first day in Northrend, even Ryndan didn't know where he was bound for, so how did The Baron?

"That's my secret, I'm afraid" Walden replied, a hint of mischief surfacing from underneath the serious façade he had donned. They currently sat far away from the port, partially down the fjord inlet and away from any prying eyes and ears. Walden had written to meet up this night at such a place- how he knew the layout of Valgarde was slightly disturbing to Ryndan. Sneaking away undetected proved to be a challenging task, but manageable. In fact, the most difficult part of the night was convincing himself whether to go to this meeting or not.

"Your Alliance ships attacked our incoming vessel first, so it's only natural-"

"That you poison them. I see," Ryndan crossed his arms in partial annoyance and also to stay them from reaching for his sword.

"Don't be like that, Dan. What could I say to dissuade the Apothecaries to not use them as test subjects? Advocate what they had done? My hands were tied-"

_"Test subjects_?" Ryndan reared up, temper flaring. Walden drew his other dagger slowly from his sheath.

"Watch it, Dan, I've no reason to not defend myself, even if it's you." Walden warned cautiously. "And yes, the Apothecaries are developing a plague and then your ships presented themselves as happy targets-"

"There are good men and women dying out there because of you!" Ryndan was beyond anger, he was infuriated. Still in control of his actions, it took all of his strength not to withdraw the weapon resting across his back. His fists were clenched painfully. He tried to recite an age-old prayer to calm his nerves. It failed.

"And they are killing ours too with their cannons!" The Argent Crusade Captain snapped.

"They're cornered like animals- let them _go_!" He grabbed Walden's collar and shoving him harshly against the rough cliff face.

"I would if I was the one in charge, but _I'm not_, Ryndan! So stop placing all of the blame onto me- _I have no influence in that port!"_

"You are burning their bodies like criminals!"

"This is_ Northrend_, you fool! Any dead body here is a potential soldier for Arthas! We _have_ to burn them for _everyone's_ safety!" Walden cried, patience lost now. They fell quiet, contemplating their own words. The river lapped up onto the thin shore where they stood, the only other sounds being of the nearby harbour. Overhead, a crack of night-sky could be seen, naked and twinkling. Neither of the men noticed.

Ryndan was breathing heavily and felt flushed. Only wearing his chainmail shirt to meet Walden, he was glad for he wasn't sure how he might have coped in a full suit of armour. That and he might have stood more of a chance against Walden's daggers, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

There was a terse silence between the two men, only one with rapid huffs of breath visible. The other watched on, waiting for any small sign of sudden attack. They both knew who the victor would be in such an event, but that didn't stop the idea presenting itself regardless. His anger slowly receeding, he opened his frozen hands, Mort dropping a few inches back to the ground. The elf drew a deep, cold breath, his lungs aching at the intrusion.

"This _plague_- is it aimed at the Alliance fleet?" Ryndan asked slowly, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer. If it was 'yes' then he would need to report back to McGreaves and Keller right away, thus informing them of his secret rendezvous with a Horde representative.

"No, it's not. It's being developed for the Scourge, or so they say." Walden replied carefuly, slumped in relief at the mutual unspoken truce.

"'They'?"

"The apothecaries." Walden sheathed his daggers again, the tension fading slowly into the cold air between the two. "They keep to themselves, but I'm not sure if they would tell me the truth, Dan. It's not unknown that I worked for the Argent Dawn; they could easily lie to me. That's why I wrote to you, I need to ask you a favour."

"What _kind_ of favour?"

"I need Cers."

* * *

A/N- Thank you so much to those who have read this far and favourited/followed/reviewed my little brainchild! It really means a lot to me that you find my story interesting enough to want to read more and so give me a boost to continue writing for you :) I have lots and lots planned out, just taking my time with writing each scene to the best of my abilities. I hope you enjoy reading it and meeting my characters as much as I have introducing and writing them- we've many, many more to come as well as a lot planned out for those we already know. Big things are a-coming!

#Fun fact 1- Luciya's original name was Ythae (Ee-thay), shortened to 'Iffy'. She's gone through several physical changes in her development but in each draft she always has her trademark carrot-coloured hair.


	16. Chapter Fifteen- Enter the Catacombs

_Seventeen days after landing in Northrend_

I could feel her tugging my arm hushed-but-urgently telling me to move, but my body was rooted and I couldn't take a step. There was _something_ there, something…not right. It was a magnified burst of whatever it was I had been feeling since stepping foot on these Light-forsaken lands and it was centred _right there._

"Cers! Come _on_, we have to _move_!" She was nearly frantic now, but there was nothing I could do. She had two long hands wrapped around my chainmail-covered arm, but despite her best efforts to force my weight, I felt compelled to move forward against the current that was Luciya. One heavy step. Another. Three more and I had moved several feet. The large bonfire behind us was dying in the rain. The occupants of the village slept. The two intruders were nearing their destination, and then I had felt it.

It was cold.

Not a cold to nip at your nose, or to breathe little clouds of steam into. No, it was a terrorising cold, an infiltrating one. It crept past your skin, beyond your muscles, through your bones and deep into the recesses of your soul.

And mine was caught in its grip.

**_Do you feel it mortal?_**

"Cers! _Please!_ The patrol will be back round at any moment!" I could feel her throwing her weight backwards in an effort to stop my slow, deliberate footsteps, I just couldn't open my mouth to tell her that it was no use. My body was not under its own will anymore- and my mind was on its way to join it.

I knew this feeling, it had invaded me before. This wasn't just an ordinary cold. No, this was the body in its final moments. The darkest moment of night. The fear brought on by the one certainty in life.

**_Death seeps through me…_**

I drew closer to the large stairway heralding the entrance into the looming Vrykul Citadel. There was _nothing_ there, nothing that I could physically see in this blasted rain. Yet my feet walked anyway- two more steps, a third.

**_…Enveloping all that I touch._**

My hands were twitching. Jerking, crying for blood. A void in my chest grew larger and outwards. I needed _death_. My 'borrowed' weapons found their way into my hands from their scabbards. I cherished the handles beneath my fingers. I stopped at the bottom of the stairs. My hair was plastered to my face, by chainmail, trousers and boots soaked through from the downpour. The water ran down my back in a rivulet, its icy touch paving a way on my bare skin. It was magnificent. Bending one knee, I was on the water-soaked ground, awaiting orders.

**_"Your soul will languish in damnation for all eternity." _**

I only needed to kill him, the sleeping guard on duty. He sat in a doorway far to my left, unable to guard anything effectively in this sheet of rain. This weather proved effective for stalking unnoticed into the village. And it would now serve another purpose; in hiding me from my prey until I took my blade to his throat and-

* * *

"Right, you really need to get a grip on yourself. I don't know _who _you were talking to but it was freaky as hell."

She had been berating me since I had woken up. Safely huddled partway down the tunnel leading into the catacombs, Luciya has shown that she was more than a partially-pretty face by not only knocking me out, but dragging my dead-weight carcass here. I had a sizable lump on the back of my skull where she had clobbered me, but it proved worthwhile as it had awoken me from whatever trance had overtaken me, and ultimately sparing the slumbering guard.

"I feel fine now, truly," I reiterated, not for the third time. I wasn't allowed to move in fear of a concussion, despite my best efforts to inform her that I was highly unlikely to suffer something so mortal.

I refused to think about whatever had happened outside of this tunnel.

"Well, good. Because we lost a good half-hour or so thanks to whatever the hell that was you pulled out there. I want to be back before first light. Preferably before this rain lets up, or we're buggered in getting back." This was a good point. We had waited some time for a rainstorm big enough to conceal us and our scents in the village. Tonight had been that night. We had snuck out of the village with stolen armour and weapons for me and a jingly belt of tips and tricks for Luciya.

Holding out a hand, Luciya pulled me to standing and surveyed me from her extra few inches of height, water dripping from her loose strands of hair still. In this torch light, her scar was hidden in shadows, but something else hovered on her face instead.

"Come on, let's get a move on."

And so we descended.

It was a long walk, I didn't really keep track of how much time had passed- I had no way to tell. In a long earthen spiral we slowly fell, listening out for any sign of a potential opponent.

"So, what made _you_ join the Argent Crusade then?" Luciya whispered, her voice carrying over to me from behind.

"You're asking me this now?" I could see well enough in this dimly lit tunnel that avoiding rocks and roots was easy (Perk Number Three of being a Death Knight, I decided), but Luciya should be concentrating more on her step given by how many times she had cussed under her breath.

"Just thought I'd pass the time. I'm curious, is all." Hmm, I didn't doubt it. 'What Luciya wanted to know, Luciya found out'.

"I have to find someone, and the joining the Dawn is the best way of achieving that."

"Oh, that's right, you said that…" She trailed off quietly and just when I thought she was done- "so you're not bound like Terowin is?"

_Bound? _ A sudden flash of memory seized me as I recalled that brilliant handshake between him and Tirion Fordring over a month ago. Is that what that was? Some form of Holy Contract of Binding?

"Not that I'm aware of," I muttered. Or at least, not to the Argent Crusade.

"Interesting. So, do you want to see your family again?" I nearly faltered in my steps.

My family? I hadn't had any recollections of a family up until now. Mort, yes. Edmund, to an extent. A few faces here and there at the Undercity and even they were jumbled images. But a family?

"I don't think I have one." I uttered back.

"Oh, wish I could say the same."

"Is that so?" I replied offhandedly, avoiding a low, protruding root from the dirt walls. Surely there should be at least one patrol in these tunnels, right?

"Yep. We were born somewhere in Westfall but grew up in Stormwind. Beautiful city, loved it there. Have you ever been?"

"Not to my recollections," I said, straining for even the smallest of foreign noises, my blades at the ready. I didn't make much noise in my belted chainmail shirt, luckily. It fell to mid-thigh, over leather trousers and boots. Alongside my plain swords, we had 'borrowed' my getup from the armoury stockpile gathered in Valgarde. Luciya certainly had nimble fingers to acquire these- or other, more _convincing_ ways of relinquishing them from storage. Either way, she didn't tell me and I didn't ask. She handed me the small pile before we had left earlier tonight and that was all that matters. I had free movement should I require it, but after my first fight in Valgarde, I thought a little bit of extra protection might go a long way in guarding my seemingly frail immortality.

"It was amazing- especially during the festivals. Colours everywhere and people laughing. There was this one bakery in the Trade District that would make little biscuit shapes to correspond with the holidays, such talent!" She sounded very happy to reminisce- I could almost envision little snowflake pastries and multi-coloured, egg-shaped cakes. The Harvest festival brought on vegetable-looking sweetcakes, now _that_ was bizarre. Indeed, it sounded pleasant, but given the time and place, I could care less about it.

"Spring was my favourite time of the year," she continued. By The Light, didn't she stop _talking_?

"The birds always came out in springtime, I listened to their songs in the mornings when I woke up. My room was the highest up in the brothel- up in the attic, so by the time I arose about midday they were in full swing with their music. Oh, it was wonderful." This 'mature woman' sounded more like a girlish schoolchild than the top engineer and 'night time entertainer' that she was. Her words, not mine.

"Just how old are you, anyway?" I challenged, wanting to know.

"Me? I'm twenty se- six. Why do you ask?"_ Seriously? _She acted so much younger.

"No reason, just curious."

"Oh. What about you?"

"Difficult question really," I replied distractedly, still listening for the slightest of foreign noise. "I was Turned when I was eighteen. It has been three years since then. So, eighteen or twenty one, take your pick dependant on how technical you want to be."

"Twenty one then. But- does that mean you didn't celebrate your last three birthdays?" At this I turned to her, raising an amused eyebrow.

"What do you think?" I laughed. In all honestly, I didn't recall any of my training, so for all I knew, maybe I did celebrate my birthday, but somehow I doubted it. The thought of Terowin or Deathweaver sporting brightly coloured party hats nearly made me laugh out loud. The woman behind me grinned, possibly envisioning something similar. We fell into a silence once more, walking on further down the long tunnel. When would it _end_?

"It's one thing I miss out here, is the birds." Luciya softly started again, obviously not enjoying the quietness. "Any around here that I've seen are vultures or hawks. No songbirds," she sighed. Still we were descending, cautiously and slowly in case a quick exit is needed; though the likelihood of using such an avoidance tactic were slimming the further we walked. Even though there was sporadic torchlight spaced out going down, the tunnel was seemingly empty of life. It unnerved me.

"Why did you leave then, if it was so magnificent?" I couldn't even begin to understand why I thought continuing the conversation was a good idea, though a small thought at the back of my mind whispered '_because you're lonely._' To which I promptly ignored.

"Circumstance here and there. They needed engineers, I wanted out of Stormwind, it was perfect." I could almost hear her shrug from behind me.

"Wait- how does a harlot end up as an engineer in the first place?"

"A hobby, I suppose you could say." She drifted off into a merciful silence, our slow footfalls making the only noises. Strange choice for a hobby. If it were me, I might take up flower-pressing or book-collecting. Not engineering. Where do you start with it? All of those little nuts and bolts… Eurgh, no thank you.

"You know, I do appreciate you sticking your neck out to help me get this manual. I've asked two or three others and was turned down." Clearly something she is unused to judging by her offended tone.

"Well they probably didn't have important information being dangled in front of them like a juicy bone to a starved dog, did they?" I retorted, not looking to see her reaction behind. She stayed silent for a moment after that, something I took a little bit of satisfaction from.

"Yeah…There's something I should probably tell you about your man, Ed," she said. Almost wistfully, in fact. I paused to view her, why would she-?

"What do you mean 'tell me about-"

"Shh!" She proclaimed, placing a hand over my mouth. I made to pull it off but she grabbed the back of my head to keep me still.

"What the-!" I said muffled but she hushed me again.

And then I heard it. Stilling, I strained my hearing further, filtering out Luciya's close breathing and the pulse I felt between her hands. The sound- it was the soft fluttering sound that only bird wings could produce. Obviously seeing I had noticed, she removed her hands slowly from my face and bent her head to listen.

"Is that-" she started.

"Yes. I thought you said there weren't any other birds _in_ Northrend? Why would there be an aviary this far underground?" I mused quietly. Luciya just glanced at me with wide eyes and shook her head, shrugging. Placing one finger over my mouth, I signalled my leadership and moved forward. The air pressure altered ever so slightly, my body's physical awareness alert to the ending of the tunnel arriving upon us. Peering around the last spiralled bend, I viewed a large wooden entranceway opening up into a paved tunnel system. The origins of the wings remained out of sight.

"You can come now," I called mutedly. She peered around the corner, content at my judgement in the assessment of the situation. She walked very softly and deliberately in such a way that the many pouches and strange tools on her belt were saved from moving too much. The woollen cloak that fell around her- even though still wet- helped to conceal the sounds. We surveyed the beamed archway a little longer, making sure no patrols routed along our desired path.

"Now that we're here, this seems a bit more daunting," she whispered next to me, unable to tear her eyes away from the long corridor. I had to agree, this seemed bigger than us both all of a sudden. But she needed that book and I needed that information.

"Come on," I urged. Taking point, my bare hands wrapped tightly around the leather-bound hilts of my swords like Terowin had shown me, I tensed myself, ready for any attacker.

And so we entered the Catacombs.

* * *

My sole purpose in coming on this 'mission' was to protect Luciya. She was unskilled and untrained in formal combat- hell, any type of combat- and refused to shed blood. By blackmailing me into coming, almost, she had guaranteed her safety, for without her, I couldn't find out more about Edmund.

However, locked in combat with the Vrykul that had nearly flattened me, I had to question just how capable I was of my intended role tonight.

We had made it a ways into the tunnel before the origins of the beating wings was found- and it was not an aviary.

There were winged, scantily-clad, blue, incorporeal _women_ flying in the next chamber over. Both of us came to a complete standstill upon seeing them- Luciya right at my back, neither of us making a sound. We watched on as they flew about in and out of off-shooting corridors or chambers from afar, ready to flee if one came our way. They didn't.

"Are they hostile?" she asked of me, never drawing her gaze from the haunting forms. I shook my head, I had no idea _what_ they were, never mind who they followed orders from. An anguished cry drew our attention to a cornered nook somewhere off the main corridor. I couldn't see from the angle we were positioned at but it sounded like a living-person-kind-of-sound.

"I don't like this. I don't like this at all," Luciya spoke, quite obviously on edge from the eerie figures overhead. In fact, upon closer inspection, I think she had broken out in a cold sweat. Her hair was still plastered to her face where it had escaped her hair tie, no longer dripping onto her cloak. But even so, she was shivering a little. My own hair was tied at the base of my neck using the ribbon Talia had provided for me, it was one of the few items I had even touched again since emptying the bag on the first night here.

We watched on for a few more minutes, possibly longer, to determine if the beings were going to move, but it didn't look likely. A few more pained cries- several different voices, punctured the silence every now and then. Some were shrieks, others moans and some just whimpering to be barely heard. Finally I made a decision to move things along, partially because sitting here was doing nothing and secondly, time was running out.

So when we moved forward oh-so-carefully, only keeping my eyes on the aerial targets far in front of me, I didn't notice that there were cornered nooks either side of us embedded in the walls.

So I was attacked.

He was fast, barely making any sounds as we had carefully entered into the deep vault, but that wasn't my priority in thought at the moments. Avoiding each of his hard attacks was. I heard a scream that was not my own and my callow reflexes sprung into action.

I parried the first blow barely, my attacker roaring loudly and therefore announcing his charge. He was thrown off balance for a moment as I side-stepped his slow blow and thrust my own blade into his side, getting perhaps a couple of inches deep through his leather jerkin- enough to cut and hurt, but not wound or injure critically. The Vrykul turned sharply, clutching his large axe with two hands and swinging low. I paused mid-attack and jumped backwards, cursing the ill-fitting armour I was wearing. No, it was restricting my movements and fluidity more than I had actually anticipated. Up until now I had practiced armour-free with Terowin. _Damn it!_

Twin-braids tried a straight-over-head-swing down at me which I had to quickly roll on the floor to get away from because Death Knight or not, being split clean down the middle wasn't going to be survivable. He swung wildly sometimes and others they almost seemed calculated. I found it hard to find an opening in his defence- or lack of, his general size was enough to defend him against my five-foot-something. Standing at a good seven, possibly more, feet taller than me gave him _some_ advantage; probably better weapons training too. It wasn't hard to see that I was struggling to hold my ground.

We carried on for a few more minutes, neither gaining the upper hand. I had managed a few more jabs in at his chest and leg-areas, but failed to make anything crucial or fatal. Be that as it may, if there was one advantage to the curse I was currently under, it was that I did not tire- unlike my opponent. Late at night, probably weary from a hard days labour, he was most likely already tired and then he tried to take on me; me who had an indefinite amount of stamina and would not slow any time soon. Take into account the small wounds he now sported, it all piled up into a sluggish giant.

The fool.

Taking the opportunity to do a hard-parry to his sloppy side-blow, I moved to within an inch of him to thrust from straight under his encircled arms and up through his sternum. I felt as the weapon charged through the body, uncaring about anything in its path until my arm was fully stretched to accommodate. The skewering was so forceful that my sword came out at the hollow of his throat, the tip just touching his chin. His axe clattered to the ground, echoing in the hall. The gurgling from his neck filled my ears with its sweet sound and I quickly dropped my knees to withdraw the blade from the vertical angle I had thrust it in. He stumbled backwards, collapsing into the rapidly growing puddle of blood, not even trying to staunch the wound; such was the shock of his injury. By my calculations his lungs and possibly even his heart should have been pierced.

Stalking slowly up to him, I pressed the tip of one of my blades to just below his ribcage and pushed softly. He jerked in reaction, face already a mask of magnificent horror beneath tangled and two matted braids. I pressed a little harder, breaking each organic barrier, tearing muscle and felt the resistance of an organ in the way. A little more pressure popped the organ like a burst waterskin, the blood squirting and forcing its way out of the unnatural opening decorating the already-coated weapon. Eyes staring up at nothing, his life's force running out of his slack mouth, my opponent seemed less intimidating on the ground. The body had stopped twitching now.

Placing one boot on the large chest, I pulled my blade from out of the body and admired my handiwork. Untidy, but successful, I surmised. All I needed to do now was chop it up into little-

A noise from behind me alerted me to another presence; I turned quickly, remembering that Luciya was down here with me. I had forgotten about her during the fight, so focussed was I. Seeking for her orange hair I was thrown off kilter entirely when a somewhat-brightly-armoured-and-definitely-not-fema le figure faced me instead.

Oh, _Lux Sancta.  
_


	17. Chapter Sixteen- Mercy

Before we arrived in Northrend- hell, before we'd even left the Plaguelands- Terowin had pissed our mutual 'superior' off in a bad way with his attitude. And he had suffered for it. Since then Terowin was better behaved than a dog on a leash around him and did nothing to step a single greyish-green toe out of line, acting like he was top of the class trying to suck up to the teacher.

And then there was me.

So far my track record included murdering and then retrieving a fellow soldier, saving his ass by way of mutilation and decapitation, upsetting or offending Mort and nearly getting killed on the frontlines were it not for the efforts of another soldier. Combine all of that together and you have a rather large pile of trouble between me and the man standing before me, a bit of bad blood, one might say. He hated me and I was ignorant of him.

And even then, if I were to be punished for something that was all of the above combined and amplified threefold it would _still _pale in comparison to the trials and retribution no doubt headed my way for my actions this night. We'd be starting with sneaking out of the Port into the heart of the enemy territory. With a Civilian. And Stolen armaments. Without permission.

Safe to say, I was going to die.

If Captain Ryndan Firesworn thought that killing me on the spot would indeed solve all of his problems without any further consequence, I doubt I would still be standing right now looking at him.

"Can you open these cages?" He asked in general, never removing his glower from me. Luciya poked around from behind him- she was actually _shaking _from the fright of his presence. She mumbled something and moved into the cornered nooks, nearly tripping on her own feet. Fumbling with her belt-of-many-pouches she moved towards two occupied grates that I had previously unnoticed. I suppose being attacked without warning is a good excuse to not take in one's surroundings.

The other open area opposite also possessed three cages, however only one was occupied- the other two empty barring decaying corpses. All of the living prisoners were whimpering and clinging to their bars- a small glimmer of freedom hanging before them. Luciya was still busy trying to alter the locks and I was trying to avoid looking anywhere apart from the elven man standing not ten feet away- the one still boring a hole into my face with his scowl.

"Once these people are free take them back to Port. There are two Defenders standing watch at the entrance who will aid you. Make haste," he threw to Luciya, who nervously nodded, words escaping her in fear probably. But with that he stalked to me, garbed in black and gold-rimmed armour and dragged me further into the vault by way of my upper arm. Stumbling I followed, attempting to keep my feet one in front of the other while being pulled at an awkward angle. Oh, and I hadn't sheathed my swords yet either. I doubt I could penetrate his armour but I didn't want to risk even _scratching_ it and make the matter worse. Not that I'm sure that 'worse' was even possible at this stage.

"Do- don't you think we should s-slow _down_?" Not only was I desperate for my arm back, but I was wary of running into a Vrykul. We had already walked far enough to be out of sight of Luciya, and I wasn't sure just how busy this place was supposed to be.

"We will stop when I say we stop." Well, that tone certainly indicated that not only did my opinion not matter but I would be wise to not voice it again. Or anything again. Ever.

We were within view of the winged women now, each just floating carelessly about above our heads, doing who-knew-what. I wasn't even sure they knew we were there. Firesworn had more guts than I thought if charging into this part of the vault without a single thought to these weird creatures was a good idea. What if they were hostile? Suddenly m[nworld span for a moment as my body was forced against a hard surface.

"Oomph! Oi, watch it!" I cried, being slammed into a wall was not my idea of fun whether I felt pain or not. Manners, people. Pulling myself to standing straight I found I was now eye-to-eye with the Captain, his face dangerously close as he cornered me against the woodwork. I could actually see the irises beyond the green glow of his eyes, and they were dilated. Oh, Holy Light I was in trouble now-

"How did you contact Walden?" he demanded. I threw my sword-less hands in the air, my weapons now safely ensconced in their scabbards.

"Look, it was her idea to come here, I just- _what?_"

"Do not make me repeat myself." I could feel his hot breath on my skin in this proximity, the temperature almost seeming to burn. I took it as a polite, _non-painful_ warning of the state of his temper. I responded quickly.

"First, I haven't contacted Mort, err, Walden, that is. And second- _what?"  
_  
"You must have, how else did he deposit the letter in my tent? You must have been the one to tell him our location!"

"Now hang on a minute," I pushed off the wall to stand taller, invading _his_ personal space- "I haven't spoken to him since before setting foot on Northrend, so don't you dare insinuate that I am a liar, Firesworn!" Truthfully I had no idea Mort was even on the continent, never mind knew where we were.

His voiced dropped dangerously low. "That's_ Captain_ Firesworn, girl. And if you didn't contact him, then how did he know, and how did he place this letter in my tent?" At this, supposedly said letter was pulled from out of his chestplate and shoved in my face.

"This is the letter, and you're telling me you have _nothing_ to do with it?" With both of our tempers reaching their peaks and an enemy due to pop round the corner at any moment, I was reminded of our last argument which had us in similar positions. Unable to breathe a sigh of frustration, I put my anger on hold instead and grabbed the paper from his hands. Unfolding it, before he could react I simply stared at the letter.

"I can't read this, so that's proof that I have nothing to do with your problem." Folding the letter, I held it back to a very bewildered looking Captain, my face not looking to brook any argument. Well it's not my fault that he's receiving mysterious foreign love notes. Why should that be my business?

"Is that so," he drawled.

"Yes, _that is so_," I mimicked. Probably not the best way to get back on his good side. After all, sneaking out of camp when it's strictly forbidden is enough to probably earn my place on some gallows somewhere no doubt, but he had pissed me off. Staring icily at me, he flickered between the letter and me before folding it away. I had to give him credit- he was really good at containing his temper. I know that if it were me, I would have slapped myself silly several times by now.

"Move," he commanded. Well…alright then. And so I followed him, the issue seemingly resolved. I couldn't help but watch the bird-creatures above me, their soft fluttering humming a small tune as they moved. It was hauntingly beautiful. And because I was so distracted, I managed to walk straight into Firesworn's back, earning another terse chastising form The Almighty One.

"Why are we going deeper in?" I asked, genuinely curious as to why my ass wasn't being hauled back up top to be punted onto the next boat out of Valgarde. A thought cross my mind. Oh, _By The Light_, was he actually going to kill me down here and leave me to rot? Because that would _not_ be happening-

"Because we are getting that Harpoon Manual and also I have been primarily tasked with finding someone who has gone missing." Not my imminent death then. His voice was distracted, no doubt keeping an overly-long ear out for any threats. I was surprised he was still speaking to me, in all honesty.

"Oh, right. Well…good." I suppose it was, if we could find it then not only would this mission not be in vain, but Luciya could finally divulge that information about Edmund and I would keep my accursed life. However there was one thing strange about this-

"Why do I have to come with you? Are you keeping an eye on me? Think I'm untrustworthy or something?"

"Hush, girl." Oh _now_ he wants silence? We were still slowly walking down the dimmed corridor. Firesworn had small puffs of breath emitting from his mouth, so I assumed it was cold down here.

"I was just asking." I mumbled. He rounded on me in one quick move.

"It is because you are deadly, and that can come in use. Are you satisfied? If so, then kindly _shut your mouth_." Well, _I never._ So he wanted my oh-so-useful combat abilities, eh? Well, well, well, poor Captain Firesworn was scared of the giants.

Or apparently not.

When we encountered the first threat since Twin-braids back there, the only thing I could do was stand back and watch as the Elf deftly and quietly killed the giant without so much as a by-your-leave. He fell to the floor with an ungracious '_thump'_, a small pile of blood pooling where his skull met the paved floor. That will be such a pain to clean, I reckoned.

"By The Light, that was intense- Are you sure you need me? Because I really don't mind heading back up-" I started. If that was how powerful he was, then yeah, I figured I was superfluous here.

"Silence, please." Oh, a 'please' this time? We were well on the route back to happy friendship then, excellent. We started to move again, his two-handed sword now taking point in front of him. Halting down a ways, I peeked around his armoured form to see that we had arrived at a junction. Right, this'll be where it gets interesting, which way to go- to the left? Straight ahead? The stairway? Eenie-meenie-minie-

"Come."

To the left, apparently. Checking for any patrols or passersby, we were greeted by an empty hall and so proceeded down the left, which turned out to be a dead end as far as I could see.

"So, not this way then?" I surmised.

"Definitely this way, now move." Oh, right. Well fine then. Following in his wake once more, we crept slowly down the corridor, careful not to creak or jingle our armour more than necessary. Our caution was not in vain. We soon came into view of a row of beds flanking our route- and two of them were occupied. I stifled a curse at the last moment. Firesworn threw out his hand, indicating silence by pressing his fingers to his lips. Be quiet you say? No kidding, smartass.

Edging our way forward as to not wake the sleeping Vrykul, we managed not to disturb them, the snores emitting from both masking any subtle noises we made. The esteemed elf Captain was perfectly content to just stealth past the creatures- I, however, was not.

With a final glance at his ornately-caped back, I quickly sidestepped, swiftly drew one of my swords and slit the throat of the biggest dreamer. I threw my body on top of his neck and jaw, muffling his gurgles and failed calls for aid. I gripped tightly to his shoulder and head, the man writhing desperately beneath me. The blood cascaded, coating my mailshirt further as he flailed about under my pin. Just as he was reaching the climax of his drowning, I was thrown back onto the floor- a swift kick impacting my gut and forcing me to hunch. Firesworn kicked my sword from my hand and descended on me.

"What in The Holy Light's name are you _doing_, you stupid, _stupid_ girl?!" His voice was a callous whisper, scarce controlled. Standing over me at full height, two-handed sword aimed very deliberately a few inches above my heart and an expression that could only prelude murder, Ryndan Firesworn was terrifying to behold. There was something in the recess of my ribcage that contracted, understanding the intimidation and power that this man truly had over me at this point in time. He had one plated boot situated in the centre of my chest and I couldn't find any leeway to move. I was completely at his mercy- and I was scared.

"I rid of him before he could murder us!" I called back, attempting to lift my upper body – it was for naught.

"That is _not_ how the Argent Dawn works!" he spoke through gritted teeth, spit landing on my face.

"Correction! That is not how _you_ work! Don't know if you've noticed this, _Ryndan_, but I am not like you!" Something flashed in his eyes, his mouth contorting into something unkind.

"That was cold-blooded murder-" he sneered.

"Well noticed! It was cold-blooded _and_ pre-emptive. It was him or us. Hell, maybe even one of your precious soldiers on the battlefield during the next raid. It was kill him now, or kill him later when he's had a go at some of _your _men!"

"And I suppose you were going to chop him up, like you wanted to your last kill, _Hacker_?"

"Yes! I did! I wanted to see his entrails spread across this cold stone floor like he deserves!" Eyes widened in disgust, probably, he lifted his boot and just stared at me. Even when I stood up he was still examining me like an alien artefact.

"There is something very wrong with you, girl."

"But was I wrong to kill him?" I could still feel the blood soaking through my undershirt, the front of my chainmail dyed an ominous red.

"That's besi-" A large _bang_ echoed down through the halls, seemingly coming from where we had entered the catacombs. Sharing a look of on-edge surprise, Ryndan and I were startled, unsure as to what exactly went 'boom'. It seemed we weren't the only ones to hear it either- the other Vrykul was stirring in his cot. The Captain cursed, striding quickly to the other set of beds. Mirroring me in intention but not form, Firesworn plunged his blade into his chest- an intense light emanated from his sword blinding me harshly.

"Ahh ! To hell with you, Firesworn!" I cursed him as the burning sensation grew more intense beneath my eyelids. My eyeballs were melting in their sockets. The _pain_! _Oh Light it's KILLING ME_! It's-in-my-_head!_

"Cersae! _Cersae! _Stop screaming, woman!" The pain receded without warning, the memory lingering in the depths of my nerves. I was on the floor again, Firesworn over me, but not in a display of dominance this time, rather it was concern. I blinked, trying to rid my skull of the dull thudding.

"Wh-what was that?" I sat up, feeling _very _shaken from the intensity of what I had just felt.

"I invoked the Holy Power of The Light- what was _that?_" he asked, still hovering about me. I could see clearly, my vision unimpaired.

"I have no idea-"

"Have you experienced it before?" he cut across, eyes wondering up and down me. As far as I could tell, there were no physical injuries, just the haunting feelings of excruciating agony.

"No I-" Wait, my body said. Yes, I had. When Terowin shook hands with Fordring after his execution escape; The Light from back then had burned into me too. "Yes. Once before, caused by the same source of power." I muttered, stilling my trembling hands.

"By The Light?" he asked. I nodded my response. i noted that there was some blood spatter on his flushed face, no doubt from the kill he had just made.

"But why would-" We both turned to the end of the corridor, a low groaning making itself known. Ryndan held out his hand, to which I used to lever myself up. Gathering my disarmed weapons, we made our way cautiously down the hallway, listening intently for whatever-or whomever- was moaning. The elven man beside me quickly uttered a cuss and sprinted forward, his black-and-gold-trimmed armour protesting. I followed in his wake, just as soon dropping my weapons as Ryndan fell to the floor.

"_Ares_," he whispered, and not without emotion.

It was a man. Half-naked, lying on an altar and severely wounded; perhaps fatally even. The man in question- Ares- responded to the Captain's voice, grunting in pain in an attempt to see him better.

"Stay your movement, Ares, I will heal you-"

"No-o," Ares rasped, clambering to stop Ryndan's hands, they were already furtively working to repair his injuries, lightly spreading over the man's battered torso.

"Ares, I must or you will-"

"Ryndan, there is something-"he started to hack, breathing and thereby talking was a task too great for him. He had fluid in his lungs, blood most likely by my guess. Seeing how bruised his chest was, I would wager a punctured lung, cracked-if-not-broken ribs and internal bleeding. His extremities were a shade too blue for my liking.

"-Something…m-more im-imp-_portant_ than I." Each word was a strain on his system, his eyes wide, fair hair matted with his own blood and dirt, plastered on his face. He wasn't seeing daylight again. I could only watch on as Ryndan clasped this man's hand with his own, trying to send him whatever he could that would prevent the inevitable. I felt helpless. Here this man was dying and I couldn't do anything. Frustration built up in me until I could bear it no more. Turning swiftly on my heel I stalked up the vault, ripped two blankets and a straw-stuffed pillow from the unused beds and dragged them back down to the pair.

"-Must retrieve it! It is-" he was still talking? Whatever he needed to convey was worth more than his life, in his mind. Just as well, seeing as he didn't have much of it left.

"Not more valuable than your life, Ares. Please, my friend; let me help you," Ryndan was pleading with him, echoing my thoughts but getting nowhere. Frowning, I reached for his armoured shoulder, showing him the blankets.

"Whatever it is- go get it, I can make him more comfortable." I told him. To prove this, I gently placed the pillow beneath Ares' head, his breathing easing a fraction. Rolling the first blanket up, I moved around the kneeling Paladin to place it under Ares' wounded legs, elevating them. Ryndan watched me in mixed fascination and confusion, I couldn't blame him. Something overcame me and I needed to help this man. I didn't know what it was, but my body knew what to do, so I allowed it. I started tearing the second blanket into strips, my time with Talia making me a dab-hand at making and using bandages in all of their glory.

"Go, he will be safe, I promise. I will protect him." Ryndan was torn and I didn't envy his decision making. Leave his friend in my sole care or watch him die without completing his mission, forever haunted with failure.

"P-please, Ryndan. D-do not m-make me b-b-_break_ my oath!" he coughed again, blood accompanying it. Caught in anguish, I sent what I hope to be a reassuring nod to the elf. It seemed to work. Resolve hardened his face, so whatever he was to do, he had to steel himself for it. He stood, grave faced and determined. I knelt in his place, taking the fallen hand of his friend. Ares' shoulder's slumped in relief as Ryndan vowed to carry on whatever his task was in this accursed vaults. His pale brown eyes found me. I tried to offer a comforting smile, ignoring the smell of death lingering around him.

"Hail, M-my L-lady," he coughed again, earning a shush from me.

"It's fine, and believe me. I am no lady." He gave a small smile at me, squeezing my pale hand softly.

"You are like a-an angel, h-haloed in light," he strained a whisper. Poetic, bless him, but untrue.

"Thank you, Sir. What can I do to help your pain?" He was grimacing, sometimes squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

"S-speak to me. Please. T-tell me a-about yours-self." His breathing was becoming more laboured. I panicked internally, not sure what to say. Once more in the last few minutes my body overtook me and started to babble. Anything to ease this man's passing. I started to wrap the handmade bandages around his cuts and fractures.

"Well, I grew up in a city, I think. Lots of birds, smells of bakeries and the like." I drew inspiration from Luciya's description, hoping it was working. "The holidays brought lots of colours, costumes, songs and parties. I liked the spring festival, with egg hunts, eating sweets and parades. It was good, people were happy." My talking seemed to be working, his eyes were closed, a relaxed smile on his face. I did the only thing I could and continued. "At night there could be fireworks, bonfires, masquerades- though I never went to any of those, I was too young. Umm, oh, and the dock bells. I could always hear them from my bedroom window at night. The clock tower also struck on the hour, but it was a deeper, much older sound. The dock bells were busier, I thought. Let's see…what else. Well, there was the church, where you could pray. The hymns sung inside could be heard in the courtyards approaching it, if I remember correctly. Sometimes I would walk by and join in." I trailed off, checking his wrist for a pulse. Weak, but still there. And so I carried on speaking, saying everything and anything I could to distract him.

I had no idea where my improvised monologue had come from; I was just trying to make up anything to help Ares. Yet in my concentration of storytelling and bandage-wrapping, I hadn't noticed right away that he had already passed. Feeling a small wave of regret, I lay his loose hand on top of his chest, resting its partner there also. I turned on the spot, leaning back against the altar. The corridor ahead of me was empty and eerie. If I listened hard enough, I could just hear the wings that had greeted our entrance into the catacombs initially. I don't know when Firesworn disappeared- or where to, but I hoped he'd be back soon. How long ago did he leave…?

I wanted to sigh in my boredom, but I didn't, knowing no feeling of fulfilment would occur from it. Glancing to my right I saw a pile of old books, discarded in an untidy heap. Despicable way to treat tomes if you ask me. Deciding that staying on the spot was probably a good idea as to not get deeper into trouble, I reached out for a couple to flick through. They were nothing interesting. One on history, a storybook, a guide to herbs and their uses, one so scrawled it was unintelligibl- some sort of dated journal, I was unsure given it was in a foreign tongue. A guidebook of some description- a manual? I turned each leaf, the next page after page revealing more and more. This was it! The Harpoon Weapon Manual! Signed at the front was a scribbled "_Chief Engineer G. Crankwheel"._ Yes!

Elation took over as I checked that each page was intact. Drawings, schematics, notes and equations greeted me, and while I had no idea what they meant specifically, it was clear enough that this was the manual Luciya wanted. She would be ecstatic, and then I could hear about Edmund and hopefully take that one step closer to finding him-

"What the hell?!" I jumped up as something touched my neck. Ares' hand…it had fallen from his chest. Right. Memo to self, try to be less happy in the presence of a fallen comrade. Sobering up, I rearranged him again, confident he wasn't going to move. Seeing the dirt and blood on him irked me. A quick search revealed a pail of slightly dirty water by the beds. The two bodies still lay in them, their coarse mattresses soaked through with blood now. Ignoring them, I took another blanket and the bucket and gently washed Ares. He didn't look that old to me. Possibly the same age as Ryndan? Older? Who knew, but still, it seemed a shame.

Speaking of Ryndan, where on earth was he? After talking for a good twenty minutes, by my estimation, then a further ten or so flicking through books…and then taking a little bit longer to clean up Ares...surely we must be bordering on an hour now? Nearby candles surrounding the altar had wilted a fair bit, lit by someone inattentive judging by the fact I had remained undisturbed for so long. _Or had they found someone else to distract them?_ my mind asked.

I didn't like this. Ryndan shouldn't have been gone this long – and on his own. It hadn't escaped me how drawn he had looked in his anger. It was quite late at night- or early in the morning, possibly two to three hours after midnight. He probably hadn't slept, and he was in that heavy-looking armour… Glancing at Ares I decided he wasn't going anywhere and we could retrieve him later. Tucking the manual safely into my mail shirt I walked away from the altar. Picking up my swords again I walked to the end of the long corridor. A final look to the man now at peace, I headed out into the vaults.

I found him eventually.

Entering a large, round room I saw cages scattered about. Some had occupants, others empty or open. A cage near the doorway had a rowdy dwarf claiming that if released, he'd show them exactly what he was made of- no one paid him any attention. He saw me, hovering by the archway, unsure as to my loyalties probably before saying anything. I whispered to him where I was from and who I was looking for. He looked surprised and then harrowed. Nodding grimly into the centre it took me a moment to realise why he pulled such a face.

Several hulking, furskin-clad Vrykul were jeering and shouting from about the room, weapons in their hands, some dripping blood. A skirmish was taking place in the middle, the sound of metal-on-metal ringing out. Catching glimpses between onlookers, I felt my body go cold. I swore.

Ryndan was standing dead centre, something covered strapped across his back, fighting for his life.

The bad thing was, he was losing, and fast.


	18. Chapter Seventeen- To Revelate & Revolt

"Are you remaining with us this time, Captain Firesworn?"

Said Captain Firesworn groggily fought to open his eyes; a light canvas coming into focus above him. That voice…

"C-Commander? Is that you?" his voice was rough and his throat felt like glass had been forced down it.

"Aye, it is. Try not to move so much. You have been in and out of consciousness for two days now." She must be somewhere to his left, but he couldn't find the energy to move his neck- or the motivation to even try.

"Where am I?" He struggled to say, each word scraping his windpipe coarsely.

"Valgarde, you were returned to us two mornings ago, just as the sun was rising- or so I am told." He couldn't remember what had caused him to be in this state. Exhaustion swept over him quickly, his conscious catching up to all the aches and pains his body was currently suffering. He grunted as each limb reconnected to his mind, informing him of exactly how beaten he was.

"Do not strain yourself, you are badly injured- ah, Anchorite Yazmina, thank you for coming, he is awake again." Shuffling was heard to his right, but the dominant sense overtaking his attention was derived from the injuries inflicted all over him. His chest felt crushed, both legs had sharp pains striking through them at irregular intervals and his arms felt heavier than lead.

"Come, Captain, sit up a little." Yazmina stood before him, a ladle of water being held out to him. With great effort and some aid from the draenei he managed to lift his head enough to drink. Most dribbled down his chin, but the cold water that he caught soothed his throat as he swallowed- it was divine.

"There, you'll be a little _dehyderated_ considering how long you have been asleep for, so it is best to water you now." Her accented voice calming his nerves, he grimaced and repositioned his head on the pillow. Yazmina delicately tucked the blankets around him, sealing in the warmth beneath. His thighs were throbbing with soreness, his knees trying to convince him that they would never work again. One attempt to flex his toes sent agony shooting up his entirety. Able to move his stiff neck a little, he saw Commander Ashwood sitting up in a bed beside him, her hands folded on her blanketed lap watching him quietly. Devoid of her normal armour and sabres she appeared quite non-threatening. The shawl around her shoulders probably softened her image too, he thought.

"You-you're back," he said hoarsely.

"Yes, indeed we are. For whatever reason, the Forsaken held a ceasefire in their bombings two days ago, granting us enough time to just recover and to mount the rescue mission. Needless to say, we are all a little weak now." Ryndan heard what she said but struggled to comprehend it properly. His head was pounding and blinding his vision, his face felt swollen whenever he winced and all he could do to escape was close his eyes. Groaning he sunk further into his bedding, a poor attempt to run away from all the suffering he was under. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped she would forgive his impropriety.

"Open your mouth please, Captain," Yazmina instructed. Without looking as to why, Ryndan did and nearly regretted it when a few drops of something awful fell upon his tongue. Nearly spitting it out, a soft hand covered his mouth to prevent that and forced him to swallow.

"I apologise, Captain, but you spat it out last night and ended up flailing for a quarter of an hour in agony before we asked dear Lorik to hold you down." Shame flooded him despite not recalling such an episode. A damp cloth was placed on his forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat causing his ear-length hair to cling to him desperately.

"What happened?" his voice was slurred, the edge of the pain slightly coming off in his delirium.

"Hush now, we'll talk about it once you are recovered," a woman said- he couldn't identify whom. Sleep embraced him and took the elf unto its arms.

* * *

_Twenty one days after landing in Northrend._

"You wanted to see me, Captain?" she said beside him, standing next to the chair he had specifically asked for.

"Yes, sit down. Please." He croaked. Despite feeling much better rested up, most of his injuries well on the way to recovery, Ryndan still felt very weak and vulnerable.

"Um, alright." With all the grace she could muster, no doubt, Cersae sat down in the chair beside him. Commander Ashwood had been declared fit not too long ago, leaving the healer's tents for her own with the aid of McGreaves, slowly coming up to speed with the success of her rescue mission and what had occurred in her absence. No one else resided in this tent, he had asked for privacy from the medical staff.

"I fear we have much to discuss, you and I," he started, regarding her. If he didn't think his eyes were deceiving him, he would have said she had lost weight and sleep, if it were possible for her. In the light of recent revelations regarding the girl's physical welfare that he acted upon not two weeks ago, he would have thought this odd. She only nodded in response, not meeting his eyes, the muscles in her neck sharply moving with each turn of her head.

"Your hair- it has been cut?" true enough, where it was mid-back length, her colourless hair now sat in an untidy bob about her shoulders. She shifted, awkwardly twirling a strand at the mention. Most blood elves- male and female, in his experience, grew their hair long, and even though hers hadn't been considered long by elven standards, he still found himself mourning the loss of a foot or so of it. Despite keeping his own hair short for practicality, he always thought women should have long hair.

"Yeah it kind of got chopped off when we- well, when I…that is to say- in the catacombs. Sir." Why was she so nervous about him? "Father Favian has offered to tidy it up once he's found some suitable scissors," she mumbled. He didn't know who Father Favian was, must be one of her campfire companions.

"I see. Well, it suits you." It didn't in reality, her hollow eyes and cheeks, her greyish skin and blind eyes making her look more like a Forsaken than the elf she was. He was just trying to make light of the situation. Being around five women in his household taught him that flattery tended to make them feel at ease, or at least dull their tempers. Even so silence permeated the tent, neither sure how to broach the subject of the Catacombs. Since he called her here, he figured he should start.

"I owe you my life once again, it would seem. Thank you for that. I am in your debt." He bowed his head, not missing the look of panic on her face. She waved her hands rapidly.

"Oh, no it's fine, honestly, no debt-owing here."

"Well, it is customary-"

"Seriously, it's fine. Please, don't mention it." She looked so terrified at the prospect that he couldn't push it any further. Confused, Ryndan moved on.

"Alright. Can you tell me what happened then?" She eyed him warily as if he were playing a cruel joke on her. _Why was she so jumpy?_

"You… you don't remember?" She asked cautiously her eyes pleading with him to recall something. A few flashes here and there had penetrated Ryndan's dreams, all of them drenched in blood, but he felt he should give her a chance to explain in case he was wrong.

"I do not; it would appear I suffered a blow to my head at some point." A dull thudding in his skull attested to this theory, not really having left him since awakening yesterday. To his ashamed amusement, he found that this plain girl looked like a rabbit caught in front of a fox, ready to be devoured. Now would she run or fight the hunter?

"Oh, Holy Light save me," she muttered, drawing over her face with one small hand.

"Why do you say that?"

"Why, you ask? Well I get the _pleasure_ of explaining exactly what-"

"No, you misunderstand. Why do you use that particular phrase? I have heard you say it before. It is not a common exclamation." At least not in the general populace, among his fellow Crusaders however, it was very common.

"Err, I don't think I could tell you really." She frowned, searching for some origin of her pronouncement. Judging by the soft shaking of her head, she made no progress. He put her out of her misery.

"Never mind, carry on, please." She attempted something akin to a frustrated sigh but all that happened was she filled with air and was unable to deflate, giving her the illusion of sitting up far straighter and stronger. She groaned in frustration.

"Damned body… right, look. I had spent a long time with Airs or erm, what's his name- "

"Ares," Ryndan breathed, guilt flooding him as he realised he hadn't even given the dying man any thought since waking. "Did he-"

"I'm afraid so," she offered a small smile of sorrow. "It seemed to be peaceful, I think."

"Indeed, I have known him for a few years. He grew up in Stormwind."

"Err, is that right?" Ryndan took a moment to study her. She seemed not only confused but clueless at the mention of the city and its relevance to the conversation. Was she even aware of what she described? He had stayed in earshot long enough to listen to her description, curious himself as to what she would say with regards to her history. It hadn't taken Ryndan long to piece two and two together.

"Apologies, just something he told me once. Carry on." He decided to send a Prayer of Mourning to The Light for a safe passage for Ares in the afterlife later on.

"Alright. Well, I spent a long time with him before he passed, and I cleaned him up using some water nearby." Ryndan was pleasantly surprised, glad that in death he had been resided over kindly. Briefly he recalled Ares' comment of her as an angel. Perhaps in those final moments of his, she indeed seemed heavenly to him by allowing him the peace to pass without much pain. Grief struck its claws at his heart, but with an innate strength he could barely muster, he tried to push it away.

"That was kind of you, you have my thanks and also for relaxing him with your recollections."

"Oh, I don't think they were recollections; Luciya- that woman with me, that is- spoke about it before we had come down." Those pieces he thought he'd slotted together came undone in Ryndan's head, but even so, something didn't feel right. "Anyway, after a really long time you didn't come back, I decided to seek you out. Ares wasn't going to wake up again and I thought you'd run into trouble. And so I found you. In…trouble," she trailed off, looking more uncomfortable than he had ever seen anyone- and he had been present for some of his soldiers' full body medical examinations before.

"Yes, I had managed to get to the lowest level to retrieve the- the artefact! Where is it now?" He searched the tent frantically but in vain, if it had been in here with him, he would have seen it during his three day sojourn in the tent by now.

"Hey, hey, easy there Captain, it's in my tent. I didn't know what you wanted to do with it and no one questioned me on it as they were too busy trying to pry you off of my back- you were in a really bad shape by the time we came back here." She had partially stood now, leaning towards him with hands outreached like one would calm a panicked animal. _This girl managed to carry me in my full armour- and the artefact- all the way from the catacombs?_ Ryndan wondered in disbelief. _Surely not?_

"_How?_"

She relaxed a little, settling into her chair. "Well, Perk Number Four of being a Death Knight, I've decided- inhuman strength," she shrugged as if it was nothing. There was indeed nothing _to_ her- standing as she had not moments ago, it wasn't hard to see by the way her shirt moved that she had indeed lost weight- weight that she couldn't afford to lose in the first place. This twig-thin elven girl had successfully carried a fully grown elven man in complete armour without snapping in two. His mind found it very hard to envision, never mind accept, not when her collar bone was jutting painfully out from under her shirt.

"Right," he said, falling back onto his plumped up pillows. Gathering his thoughts, he formed a plan. "If you'd be so kind, pass it on to Lord Irulon Trueblade, by request of Ares the Oathbound. With your compliance, his dying wish will be fulfilled."

"No, no, no, no." She waved her hands in defiance. "That is not for me to do- no, you do it, please. I can't carry out that wish- you do it. You got it, you finish it." She was actually starting to become flustered. If there was at least one advantage to having four sisters, he knew how to handle a panicking girl- just not a death knight one.

"Cersae, _Cersae._ Girl, hold," her eyes wide -with fear? - he took her hands, visibly flinching at the temperature of them. "Calm yourself, it is well. I ask you to complete this for me. Without you neither the artefact nor myself would have made it out of there. I had been suffering with a cold up to that point, refusing to rest while shouldering responsibility for my Crusaders- upon being asked to retrieve Ares we moved straight away, unsure as to his health. I pushed myself and you picked me back up and for that I thank you." She just looked at him, fearful and wide-eyed. Her own pale irises shifted as they bore into his, silently begging that this task be shifted from her burden. He was caught between ensorcellment and worry as he stared back.

Her freezing hands were shaking in his large ones, the icy cold penetrating the bandages wrapped around them. What had happened that was so bad? "No- you don't understand what I did- _you don't remember_," she whispered

That's when realisation struck hard- this is what she felt like all the time, knowing _something_ had happened but not knowing what, one's memory refusing to cooperate and divulge the information sought. Ryndan was missing perhaps one hour of memory or so and was already frustrated; she was missing _three years_. Suddenly he saw the weight of stress and worry on her shoulders. People accused her of the worst kind of doings imaginable, shunned her for them- and she didn't even know she had performed them. She could lie to him about what occurred and he would have no choice but to take her word for it, not knowing otherwise but always possessing a small glimmer of doubt as to whether it was true or not. Yet she, without question she accepted that yes, she probably had done these unspeakable horrors and that she was automatically an evil person.

What kind of world did they live in where they ignored the unspoken cries of help from such pitied people? His heart soared with pain at his epiphany of her mindset, unable to truly imagine what personal torment she was in. He needed to give her something to hold on to, something to guide her, _anything_ to help this poor woman in front of him.

"You can do this. Think of it as atonement for your actions that night," despite not knowing what had occurred, he watched as his small ruse worked- apparently some kind of repentance offered helped calm her. Internally grateful, he watched as she sat quietly, the words sinking in.

"Do you really think it will help me work towards forgiveness?" she whispered, her hands gripping tightly around his palms. Squeezing them back in encouragement, he replied, "Yes, I believe it will."

She left soon after, leaving some of his questions unanswered. Whatever it was that she did to save him was probably terrible, but the greater surprise was how much she remorsed over it. There was something so different about her compared to the other Death Knights he had dealt with. All-in-all they performed their duties and moved on. Even slaying the enemy- which he had no doubt she did- she was anguished after for doing it. He understood now that she was more aware of her actions, or perhaps even less, than her Turned counterparts, and had morals to contend with. But he just couldn't understand why she didn't stop killing, opening her up to this regret all over again.

Captain Ryndan Firesworn spent the rest of the afternoon in quiet contemplation of the death knight girl, starting to see for the first true time that small glimmer of humanity that Koltira Deathweaver once proclaimed she possessed. The Knight-Lieutenant had spat the words as if it were a disease or curse to have- watching Cersae do battle with herself as well as everyone around her, Ryndan thought that perhaps yes, being a death knight with humane scruples was probably a torment worse than anything Ryndan could imagine. Physical torture had his limits, this he knew, but mental torment could go on for as long as the person was awake. And even then sleep was no escape.

He didn't envy the young girl, so early marred in her soul, watching it being torn apart with each raise of the sword as if she couldn't control it. He saw in his mind's eye as her eyes flamed blue, a twisted smile over her face as she calculated how to chop the defeated Vrykul up. It was almost like a different person had taken her over. A thought occurred to him in a moment of genius. The next time his carer came to check up on him, he asked a request.

"Yazmina, might I ask you a small favour once more? May I ask you to send one Terowin Darksworn to see me, please?"

* * *

_Twenty one days after landing in Northrend- late afternoon._

"Father Favian!" The man in question turned, his grey cowl over his old head as normal and plain outer robe guarding him from the wind.

"Cersae, child, how are you?" He smiled, making me feel a little better about everything that happened today, or the past few days, really.

"Good as can be, I guess. Yourself?" I bounced to his side, falling in step as he walked towards the row of tents behind the inn.

"I am well, thank you child." I doubted it; even I could see he was grey with exhaustion or illness. I didn't push him, he's a grown man so can take care of himself. Most likely. Maybe I'll just ask anyway.

"Do you need to see a healer? You look worse than me," I joked.

"No, no- I am fine, just a little tired," he said with a small smile. The Cleric fell into a companionable silence, slowly shuffling up the hill.

"Have you seen Luciya recently? I haven't seen her since- well…the other night." This was true, neither she nor Bart had appeared at the campfires the last couple of nights, Terowin occasionally swinging by but leaving after dropping one or two unnecessary sarcastic comments about being alone. I hadn't practiced sparring with him since returning. I didn't really want to pick up another weapon if I could avoid it- which I was going to do, I resolved.

"I have, she is not well, I believe. She had confined herself to her room to recover." Being a permanent member of the Port, Luciya, like many others had assigned bunks in the dormitories beyond the bathhouses. I hadn't been in the small building, huddled against a fjord wall, but she said it was comfortable enough. "Bartheleus is taking care of her from what he told me- ah, speak of the man!" I watched as the purple-skinned man smoothly walked our way, stopping in front of us.

"Father, Cersae." The tall night elf loomed over us both, dressed finely as one can in a harbour, stoic faced and stern.

"Hey, Bart. Is Luciya well? I wanted to see her." Bart turned and actually scrutinised me, his eyes drinking me in in some cold fashion.

"She is well, Cersae, just exhausted. Her foolish escapades proved a little more taxing on her than she calculated for."

"Oh, I'm glad she's alright. When can I see her?"

"I do not know. It is up to her when to allow others." His arms folded in unspoken defence of the woman. He really needed to be more careful about hiding his feelings for her or she might actually find out one of these days.

"Right, well- can I ask you to give her something for me?"

"Depends on what it is," he said tersely. I did a double-take. Had I offended him as well without knowing? How many people a day did I manage to piss off without opening my mouth? I understood that maybe he didn't approve of Luciya going, but she was a grown woman, it wasn't _my_ fault she went along.

"It's the engineering manual that she wanted- the reason that we snuck into there in the first place," I stated, not without raising my voice a little. His long eyebrows rose in surprise- yeah, that's right; I actually succeeded in our suicide mission.

"I see. Yes, I will pass that on to her, if you would give it to me."

And so we three walked to the tents. I dipped inside mine first, the bed still made and unused since day one. Occasionally I had lay on top of it but boredom and unease normally took me over forcing me to move. Reaching underneath my cot I pulled the book from my only sack. I heard the two men muttering between them on the other side of my canvas flap, unaware that my hearing was slightly better than theirs.

"She's terrified, Father. I'm sure if you could speak with her and calm her she will listen-"

"There is little I can do to help her face her fears. You and I both know that girl in there; she is not as deadly as Luciya is making out, surely. Not that misunderstood child."

"You haven't seen the expression in her eyes, with all due respect, Cleric. I have known Luciya for many years now and only once have I seen her this distraught. But never this terrified for her life-"

"Here's the book," I walked out, lumping the journal into Bart's fast-catching hands.

"Thank you, Cersae. Luciya will be happy to see this," he said, nodding his head from two feet above me.

"No problem, all in a day's work," I grinned. Not even acknowledging what I had said, he gave his goodbyes and Bart left our company, reducing our trio to a pair. I turned to my elderly companion.

"What was that about?"

"I think he is simply upset at Luciya putting herself in harm's way, do not take it to heart, my dear." Makes sense I suppose, given how protective of her he is.

"I think I understand. I mean, for a twenty-six year old she doesn't really think a lot of things through," I noted.

"Twenty-six? She told me she was twenty-four," Father Favian said, looking as puzzled as I.

"Huh. So she's lying about her age? Which is correct? Mine or yours?"

"Or both, perhaps?" he prompted.

"Would she lie to a member of the Argent Crusade?" I nodded to the small crest on his robe, indicating his association.

"Why wouldn't she? I am no different to her, Crusade or not."

"Hmm, I suppose. I don't know, I just thought that perhaps the Crusade was, oh, I don't know, too virtuous to allow lies and the like." This was true, my impression of the Argent Dawn/Crusade so far had been that they were a pious bunch, slightly superstitious of outside forces and perhaps not as equal as they wanted to think they were-so far I had only really seen Paladins with high positioning ranks, for instance. I told the Cleric as much when he inquired further.

"Is that so," he said, stroking his beard. "Thank you, Cersae, I'll investigate this further. Though I believe there is one exception to your thoughts in this very port- one Commander Ashwood." Ashwood? Who was that? Had I met him before? "She is a night elf, former footsoldier and high-ranking officer in the Alliance Ranks. As the Kaldorei do not embrace The Light, she is not a Paladin by our definition. More a warrior, if you will."

Oh, so Ashwood was a night elf _and_ a woman- was that the one with the stern face and cropped hair that I had seen Ryndan speak with on occasion? Speaking of the blood elf-

"Sir, do you know who Lord Ir-…er, Iralion, no that's not it. Irloin, no. Lurion? Ah, er-"

"Irulon Trueblade, perhaps?" he supplied, clearly too amused.

"Yes! That man, do you know who he is- is he in port? I need to- oh will you stop laughing!" for indeed the Cleric was chuckling heartily from beneath his slightly bushy white beard. With a youthful glint in his eyes, I couldn't help but grin as well.

"Forgive me child. I have never heard such exotic names for my compatriot before. Though I must say, you suit a smile, my dear, it is good to see you happy," he wiped away a solitary tear from his aged face. I beamed at him. I liked Father Favian; he was kind to me and very non-judgemental of people such as Luciya and Bart with their less-than-stellar backgrounds. Also he didn't mind putting up with my presence despite my death knight status. I appreciated his company and may even dare to call him friend. It felt nice.

"I have been tasked with giving him something; may I ask you to take me to him, please?"

"Certainly." Nodding, I dipped my head into my tent once again, retrieving the cloth covered item that I had tucked underneath my mattress in case of anyone prying. I hadn't unwrapped it; it was something special, I felt. When I had been alone with it for the first time since coming out of the Catacombs it had hummed in my hands. It was about three-quarters the length of by body and oddly shaped. If I had to guess, I'd say it was a weapon, but it was a strange one if it were. I was very uncomfortable holding it, if I was honest. It was just something that I wasn't supposed to handle in the first place, and so decided to not to look further. Coming back out of the tent, Favian regarded the incongruous package but said nothing. And so the Cleric and I walked back into the camp, locating the Lord of the Crusade situated in the middle of all of the hustle and bustle.

Gathering my wits, I left Father Favian's side prepared to finish Ares' task. Ryndan's words had cut deeper than I cared to show to him earlier, wondering if truly reconciliation for my damned self might be possible. If it was, I was going to spend the rest of my life working towards it. Starting with this.

"Lord Trueblade?" I spoke, gaining his attention. The overbearing man turned to me, fully dressed in formal armour and tabard, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes flickered to Father Favian behind before greeting me.

"Yes, death knight? What is it you require?" A little pompous perhaps, were people always just asking things of him, rather than doing? Oh well, time to change that.

"I-," I stopped.

I what? I got this three days ago and didn't hand it to you? I sat while your soldier died holding my hand? I left him there to rot?

"Cersae?" Nudged my Cleric friend from behind me. Feeling a source of courage coming from Favian's presence, I straightened my shoulders back, addressing Trueblade.

"I was asked to deliver this to your hands. By Ares." The large man's eyes grew wide and disbelieving, flashing between me, the bundle and Favian. I held it out to him, ready to be rid of it. It had started that weird humming since I exited the tent again and I didn't like it at all. Why wasn't he taking it?

"Where did you get this, girl? Do you know what you hold in your tainted hands?" he hissed. I nearly dropped the item in surprise at the hostility.

"No, _I don't_. I'm just finishing what Ares-" I started.

"Did you kill him before taking this? Deciding to take all of the glory yourself?!" He drew up taller, looming over me bearing into my face.

"N-no! I didn't! He was already dying and then-" A few people were watching us now, I think I could see a flash of red hair out of the corner of my eye.

"Lies! Why should I believe you-"

"That will be enough, Irulon," Father Favian stepped forward in my defence. Normally I might chafe at someone interfering but right now I was more than happy to tag him into this ring. To my surprise he drew down his cowl, allowing me to see his full head of greying hair and beard for the first time in our acquaintance. He truly looked quite striking for an old man, grandfatherly almost.

"Lord Fordring! You mustn't reveal yourself!" Trueblade exclaimed.

…_What?_ I gaped at Father Favian, waiting for him to dispute the Trueblade's misnomer. He didn't. The man I knew to be the virtuous Cleric Favian just stood there, looking more serious than Bart had earlier.

"It is enough, Irulon. The boy's death, and in fact, the deaths of all of the knights involved in the redemption of the blade could have been avoided. Their passing weighs heavily upon my soul, no one else's. Not this girl's."

Trueblade looked mortified, much to my mixed satisfaction and extreme puzzlement. What on earth was going on here? The overly dressed man beside me sobered up, grimacing at Favian.

"No, My Lord. You must not blame yourself for my plan to transport you and the blade separately. The path of freedom has always been beset with tragedy, sire. We could not risk losing you. The Crusade could not have survived such a blow." I looked around, many people were now watching our little drama, whispering and pointing at Favian. It couldn't be that he really was…? To my right I saw Ryndan, leaning heavily on a wooden crutch, bandages wrapped all around any exposed skin barring his bruised face. To my left I did indeed see Luciya looking paler than I remembered, Bart hovering closely behind her, eyes fixed on the two Crusaders in front of me.

The eldest of the two- Favian, or Fordring as he apparently was, grimaced harshly. "I am not worth more than any man or woman in the Crusade, Irulon. It should have been me that carried the blade to Northrend. The burden was mine and mine alone to bear." He sighed heavily, dropping his head in sorrow, his words weighing more than the still covered blade in my hands. After a moment of stunned silence, he straightened, regarding his comrade in front of him sombrely. "But you are right, Irulon. The price of our freedom will undoubtedly cost thousands more of their lives." He turned to me, face tense. I could see it now, this man, in all of his glory- The Highlord of the Argent Crusade. How could I have missed his grand presence, the dignified man that led so many people to war on these lands? It was there in his stance, his voice, his words, his eyes. Not even the plain raiment he was robed in could hide his unparalleled leadership. Gently he unwrapped the bound cloth in my hands, my eyes never straying from his hardened face.

And then he lifted the sword. My arms fell heavily, free from the burden I wasn't even aware I carried, aching with stress.

I watched on, like so many others as he faced the Vrykul Citadel, the Howling Fjords, and the rest of Northrend and raised his head up high.

"Do you hear me, Arthas?! The Argent Crusade is coming for you! Your kingdom shall crumble beneath the weight of justice! _BY THE LIGHT_!"

"By The Light!"

"By t' Light!

"Anar'alah!"

The crowds gathered around us cried out and cheered, calling out for the downfall of the Lich King and his enemies. People hugged, raised tools and weapons, daring Arthas to show his face and take them on now. Ryndan looked proud and awed, Lorik was stunned and surprised. Terowin was not to be seen, and yet for all of my time to come yet, the most memorable thing I recall about that day was Luciya, crying out to Bart in the middle of the excitement.

"Did I actually describe my sex life to the _The Highlord of the Argent Crusade?!"_

* * *

A/N- Editted due to site derping out and not saving my horizontal lines or typo corrections. Apologies for those who read it without them! On a more positive note, the next two chapters are written and ready to go in the next couple of days or so. Hope you're still enjoying the story!


	19. Chapter Eighteen- Miserable Exploitation

_Twenty-five days after landing in Northrend._

"We'll be sorry to see you leave, Commander," Keller said, a smile broadening on his features for the first time since Ryndan had met the man. He couldn't blame him. "You and your soldiers have helped a great deal around the place, for that we are grateful."

"It is us who are to thank you and your men for taking such care of us, Vice-Admiral. I realise supporting so many was not the easiest thing to do at such notice but as expected, the Valiance Expedition has more than surpassed themselves." Beaming like a proud father might, Keller nodded and shook hands with Commander Ashwood, conveying the last goodbyes and thanks from the Argent Crusade.

Already mounted on her horse, Ryndan's superior clicked her heels and set forth in front of the troops. Starting at a steady pace, half of the Argent Crusade contingent left Port Valgarde.

"They should be safe now, with their working Harpoon Launcher," Ryndan commented to Ashwood, rhythmically rocking in the cart he was seated in.

"Indeed, the mission to disable the overhead harpoons was a complete success, judging by the report from Lieutenant Icehammer," she replied, leading the walking column up the large incline overlooking Valgarde bay. Now officially off active duty until he had fully recovered, Ryndan rode in the front most cart, his leg and pelvis still too bruised to comfortably ride the borrowed horses to Westguard. Even taking the extra caution for an easier journey, Ryndan still suffered discomfort in his vehicle.

"I feel better, knowing we are leaving them safer. I was vastly concerned by their sitting duck position when we first arrived," Ashwood said. Ryndan recalled her voicing her concerns, claiming it was male pride keeping everyone there in danger. Perhaps so, but regardless things seemed to have hammered themselves out. "You did well to retrieve the manual, Firesworn," she nodded to him.

Ryndan frowned. The Commander had ordered him to take the praise for receiving the manual, trying to draw attention away from why a death knight under their control was out wondering loose at night on her own in the first place. He didn't like it, but he saw the merit in keeping Cersae's involvement a secret. Indeed, if they could not keep a death knight under their jurisdiction properly, how would that reflect on the Crusade as a whole? And yet, without her, Ryndan would be dead by now. She had rescued him for the second time, even if he didn't remember.

Said Death Knight walked somewhere towards the back of the column. They were the second group to leave for Westguard, bringing the rest of the last to recover from the Forsaken attacks- both the stranded and the rescue team. Whatever toxin was dropped onto the boats each day had left the crews beyond sick, inducing scurvy and other digestive problems, mainly being unable to eat for vomiting so much. The people who had gone on the rescue mission were easy to spot- their cheeks were gaunt and hollow, an extraordinary amount of weight lost. It had taken Yazmina, Lorik and McGreave's healing teams to bring the men and women about to even a modicum of health when they had returned weak and near death. Unfortunately two had passed away- Cadet Fusebolt and Private Dawnrunner, both fine women who left too soon.

Highlord Fordring had resided over their cremations, praising their bravery and commending them as people. After his revelation five days ago, he said it was the least he could do for his fellow Crusaders, writing to make sure their families would be taken care of, assuring them that they would avenge their deaths against Arthas. He spoke more of riding against the Lich King, claiming no one shall be forgotten in the fight against the Scourge, and that victory was in their grasp. Ryndan was moved by his words, but felt a little hollow when he realised that the like of Cersae and Terowin would probably not be remembered favourably in history if they were victorious.

Spurred on by time and now the successful recovery of The Ashbringer completed, Fording had left with Trueblade and Lieutenant-Commander McGreaves two days prior with some of the healthier troops en route for Dragonblight. They left to clear the road of any obstacles or ambushers, allowing safe passage now for the less-fit. Left with orders to stay at Westguard Keep, Commander Ashwood's troops carried the bulk of supplies and also were escorted by a few others also travelling to the north not a part of the Crusade.

Shifting on his hard seat, Ryndan winced as pain shot up through his hip again. His crude crutch lay over his lap, the only other people as his company being Sergeant Edrikson and Private Danila. Edrikson made for pleasant company but the young draenei was silent and nervous in front of two higher-ranking officers no doubt. As stern as she was, Ryndan knew that Commander Ashwood liked to converse on a professional level with all of her soldiers, wanting to know each by face and name. He had once asked her about it, and she had responded that if she needs to say words over their graves, then the least she can do is know who she's saying goodbye and thank you to.

Ryndan imagined that all of her time in the Gulch and partaking in other battles left her in a position to judge the value of life more than others- it's possibly what made her such a fair Commander in the Dawn, despite not being a paladin or priest. He admired her greatly, much like Lieutenant-Commander McGreaves, whom he had known for his entire Argent career.

Nearing the peak of their climb, Ryndan turned to view the bay. It was beautiful from on high, the port to the far right behind them and the ghastly Vrykul castle casting its shadow far to the front of them. Up close it seemed truly amazing, despite the people that resided in and around it. Such a stunning contrast to the delicate allure that his homeland held. As a whole, the nature here seemed broader and stronger, no doubt necessary for living in harsh winter environments and weathers, however, it didn't detract from its overall serenity.

The forest below separated man from giant, a beautiful sea of dark green settled next to the large body of sparkling water, so clear the bottom was visible where the sunlight did not shine too bright upon it. Reaching the top, they drew level with the ominous village across the inlet; he squinted to view the bright red canvases. The village stretched on for a bit more than he liked, making him even more grateful for the disruption of their aerial bombardments. Thanks to a small group of adventurers arriving on the last shipload, with Zorek's guidance and Luciya's interpretation of the manual, those harpoons were destroyed yesterday.

And then his eyes fell upon the Howling Fjords proper for the first time. Stuck in the Valgarde basin for a month had confined him to the same view every day, unknowing of what truly lay awaiting above him.

Green land, tall trees and sparkling lakes dominated the scenery in every direction. Snowcapped mountains were seen in the very far distance, faded and cloudy but beautiful to behold. Their road was dirt-paved and extremely bumpy but Ryndan forgave the rough ride for the idyllic countryside he had the pleasure of travelling through. It was almost enough to forget that they were here for war, the Captain foolishly hoping to travel these lands on his own one day, admiring all that the continent could offer in its untainted and free form. Taking a deep breath of crisp air, he let it out in a cloud of steam, welcoming the wintery nip to his elongated ears.

Perhaps if he lived through this campaign then yes, he would very much like to witness Northrend anew, not plagued anymore by the Scourge or their King.

* * *

"Hey, almighty Capitan Ryndan Firesworn of the Argent Crusade." Looking to his right, said Capitan came face to face with a familiar red-headed engineer. Stiff from his tense posture, he had offered to take a horse of his own partway through the journey when one of the strand rescuers nearly collapsed off of his steed. That man now rested in the cart Ryndan occupied a few hours ago. He was in a great deal of discomfort, but bared it, knowing he would rest later that night.

"Greetings, Ms. Green."

"Oh, just Luci, please," she threw him a half-hearted smile, her face drawn and tired looking. Claiming that she had enough of Valgarde, Luciya and her friend Bartheleus accompanied the Crusaders in their pilgrimage, hoping she could take up maintenance work in Westguard, he later found out.

"Are you well, Miss Luciya?"

"Peachy, thanks," she gave a hollow laugh indicating quite to the contrary. Ryndan would guess that the incident in the Catacombs shook her more than she cared to admit. Up close, this was the first time he had really seen her properly since _that_ night. Bags under her eyes indicated more than just a lack of sleep. She suffered nightmares.

"I understand," he offered. Many of his soldiers often needed post-battle counselling, even if they didn't know it. After going through it several times himself, he was old-hat now at providing the counsel- and also recognising when it was needed - like now.

"You do? Because I don't. Forgive me for saying but that was just ridiculous what I saw down there. One moment she's all normal- for her anyway - and the next she's got these bright blue eyes and effortlessly slaying something more than twice her size! That is not _natural!"_ she forced her voice to drop to a hysterical whisper, it in danger of rising in her small panic. Searching around, he caught the eye of her kaldorei friend and indicated to him. Eyes flickering back between Luciya and Ryndan, the night elf nodded in severe understanding. Ryndan reached over, taking her reins and pulled her to the side, slowing their pace to allow for privacy away from the small column.

"What you witnessed was her true Death Knight abilities. I have only witnessed it once myself before a few nights ago. It is shocking, I do know this." Wide eyed and chest heaving, he wasn't sure if Luciya listened to his words as he spoke, her eyes seeing something else than him caught in the midst of her own frightening torment. His only effort now would be to placate her.

"As far as I can understand it, she has little control over this. She is an incomplete knight, unfinished in her training and not fully embraced in her utmost potential and so susceptible to outbursts like that." This much Koltira Deathweaver had told him not a few weeks ago- though that seemed almost like a lifetime to him now. "Also, she suffers some sort of curse, a torment if you will. Seemingly, Death Knights have to kill or they are driven mad by their own thirst for blood," he explained harrowingly.

"The Endless Hunger," she whispered.

"You know of it?" he asked, surprised. He only knew it from the conversation he had had with Darksworn in the recovery tent a few days ago. He had divulged the exact nature of what drove Death Knights to kill beyond mere orders. It was some of the newer, more personal information they discovered about the Knights as individuals, rather than as a group. Ryndan felt nauseas when Darksworn had described the inner and physical pain experienced by lack of murdering. Apparently, as punishment if a knight stepped out of line, they were chained and starved of the chance at death by their hands, driving them insane from the withdrawal. The Lich King was a far crueller man than Ryndan could give him credit for- if indeed 'man' was the term still appropriate to describe him. It was what Ryndan had effectively done to Cersae by forcing her from the front lines- a decision he was still sure was the right one with her unpredictable battle skills, however.

"Yes, Terowin described it one night to Cersae. It sounded so dreadful. I had already noticed her shaking hands and trembling, but said nothing of it. I still needed her." Good, she was speaking more; being responsive was the first sign to dealing with her stress. "I should have though, perhaps she could have gotten help to deal with it and then I wouldn't have had to see her do that-"

"Somehow, I think the only way to stave it away is indeed to slaughter. There would be little we could do to erase her torture, I fear." He lied to himself, using this as an excuse for ignoring her troubles and worries. Ryndan felt poor, if he had to admit it, at straining what could be described as their relationship to the point where she could not approach him like a superior before the Catacombs. His pride and anger had gotten in the way. Perhaps if she was on the frontlines again, or undergoing training at least then she may have been able to deal with her Hunger…but he had refused to do nothing with her, cutting her off from everything violent. It was for her own good, he had thought, as well as everyone's around her. And it resulted in yet another brutal death and potentially gruesome post-mortem mutilation, witnessed by the scarred woman next to him.

"What a horrible existence…" she trailed off into a thoughtful stupor, Ryndan agreed, joining her, wondering what the girl's head must be like with such an overwhelming feeling ordering her to kill again and again on top of her moral strife. After their conversation in the recovery tent, Ryndan felt an overwhelming for pity- everything she did, if or when she remembered it, resulted in a drowning guilt at having no say in the matter. Her free will and choice had been stripped from her brutally. The woman beside him didn't understand this, probably not privy to such information beyond the Endless Hunger. Was she aware that Cersae fought for forgiveness and retribution on herself? Looking at her haunted face behind her carrot hair, he believed not, or perhaps she would feel sorrow for her friend, rather than fear like he did.

He remembered walking down the winding tunnel and seeing Luciya, quaking visibly from shock and fright at watching Cersae murder the giant in a horrific manner. It must have been the first time she had witnessed any kind of true cold bloodshed of any kind and he tried to shield her as best he could upon reaching her- she had clung on to him nearing collapse.

"I cannot fathom it personally, and I do not envy her- or any of them for it. However, we should be glad that she turned on a Vrykul rather than a friend." Something he thanked The Light for- he just wasn't sure how far she would have gone, deprived long enough of killing. But does that mean he would have to condone her murdering? Or would it be considered 'fine' if on an enemy figure? Ryndan didn't have an answer for that despite how sympathetic he felt to her situation. Does being out of control of her actions dismiss them automatically when wrong? Or praise them if used as a boon, even if unintentional?

"Do you think she can be cured?" Luciya spoke, bringing him out of his reverie.

"'Cured'? I do not know if that is the right word. 'Freed', perhaps, may suit better. But even then, I do not know. I believe that is why she seeks her friend, to ask his aid, somehow." Walden had confided that she was only here to search for this infamous man from her previous life, mentioning soon after that she wanted this man to free her from her curse. What he could do, he was unsure. Ryndan hoped to have more answers after hearing back from his contact in Dalaran or even from the reunion of the couple itself.

"Did you know this Edmund of hers?" she asked tentatively.

"Not personally, no, but I have a heard a fair bit about him. Why do you ask?"

She stayed silent a moment, contemplating her words. "Do you know if she loves him?" Her light brown eyes were wide and serious awaiting his answer. He decided to reply diplomatically.

"I- Well, it is not for me to say." Even though the answer was 'yes', at Walden's words, it was rude to discuss others' affairs and private relationships, he felt. Besides, even if she did at one point love this man, who knew what she felt now, if anything?

"Fair enough. You see, I slept with him- several times in fact, when he was here over a year ago-" Ryndan tried not to envision the images conjured by such a statement, " and every time, even though he was a gentle lover, there was a depression about him." What started out as too much information dissolved into something a bit more sympathetic. "He was very tender in his ministrations-"she actually blushed a little, it was charming, he thought. "But it was like there was something missing from him. Or someone."

"Is this something you should be telling me? I prefer not to discuss another man's personal business or feelings-"

"Oh, it's fine, I won't say much more. Just that I told Cers that I knew where he was. But I don't actually know specifically- I just know of him."

"You lied to her?"

"Yeah, sort of. You see, he called out for her in his sleep afterwards, that's how I recognised her name. When he came here, he only introduced himself as 'Ed', not 'Edmund' like Cers calls him. It took me a while to place the name she was looking for to the face I knew. I really needed that manual and…she really wanted to hear about her Ed, so I manipulated my information a little." Ryndan didn't need to tell her that her actions were wrong, there was shame radiating off of her at the admission.

"Sometimes it was, well… anguished, I think is the word, and other times it was soft and sad. He cried once too. I didn't know what to do, who this woman was, where she was. It wasn't like normal with him as a paying customer and me the pleasure-giver." Ryndan blanched at the crude terms but said no more, not wanting to interrupt her flow. " No, it was two people in need of human comfort during those cold nights. I presumed she was dead judging by the grieving he seemed to be going through. I guess she's not far off death, really. I've been with men who have used me as a replacement for a deceased lover to help ease their grief before, but this was a whole different level. He was so…_so sad_, that I've never really forgotten him, you see. I really think that he loves her, truly."

And look at her now, what would he say if they were reunited? Would he be overjoyed? Horrified? Would this Edmund be kind enough or want her enough to look past her current state? He was both curious and hesitant by the idea of witnessing such a reunion. Ryndan had not been in love and could not fathom to what depths the heart may forgive to. He felt a sudden pang of pity for the girl riding further down the line. And for the woman beside him.

The normally energetic Luciya looked despondent. Having only really spoken with her once, but been in her presence twice previously, he understood her to be a kind person, even if a prostitute. She spoke so heavy-heartedly now that Ryndan got the impression that perhaps she regretted sharing a bed with this Edmund now that she knew Cersae, as well as lying to her. He found it slightly ironic, somehow, before berating himself for thinking lowly of the woman just because of her profession.

"I see, and you wish to tell her this?" he asked, asking silent forgiveness for his disgraceful thoughts. She was only trying to help, after all. He should not judge.

"No, not exactly." She tutted in indignation. "Well, I do and I don't. He mentioned where he was aimed for but I thought it was the ravings of a man gone mad, to be honest with you. And that's not all…" She fell quiet, her scarred face downcast. There was an inner turmoil going on with her that Ryndan empathised with. She liked Cersae -that much was clear, despite what she had witnessed that night. He had seen them at night from afar, seated around the campfire by the piers in their oddball group, joking and talking for several days running. He would be lying if he said it hadn't warmed his heart to see her interact with others, but he also realised that this woman on his right had now seen the flipside to the Death Knight that was _The Hacker._ And she was scared of her.

"What else is there?" he gently prompted, shifting on his saddle a moment.

She sighed heavily, grimacing causing her violent burn to scrunch painfully. "Edmund, well, Ed as he called himself…he would cry out for another woman as well."

"Oh, I see. Perhaps a sister, or a friend?" Even suggesting it Ryndan knew that that was a long shot.

"I doubt it, there seemed to be more pain in the cries of her name than Cersae's, if you ask me."

"May I ask of the name?"

"Earalith. It was Earalith," she said with a great melancholy. She did, she felt really bad for her friend, he concluded. If it came down to it, he did too knowing this information.

"Earalith." The name didn't exactly roll off of his accented tongue; it felt like he tripped on it a little. "An unusual name, not elven at least anyway," he concluded.

"No, probably human, the name sounds Common though there's no way of knowing without meeting the woman herself. I just don't know what to tell Cers, she's desperate to find Ed because he's out here, somewhere on this damned continent looking for her with her doing the exact same." She looked around and afar at the snow-covered scenery. He had seen a large-to-scale map of Northrend and indeed if this was just the Fjords, he found it hard to comprehend the true size of such a land. Edmund could be anywhere from the next stop at Westguarde to lying dead in a cave somewhere, never to be found. In three years since she was turned, he could have travelled anywhere and back again. Was she running a fool's errand in her search? Or did her hope and faith at his being alive make it just so, ultimately to make them reunited?

Ryndan found himself hoping that for her sake, she found him sooner rather than later, if at all.


	20. Chapter Nineteen- A Woman's Back

They paused for camp in the early evening, the light from the setting sun enough to allow them freedom to set up without lighting torches yet. Even though Ryndan was off of active duty he tried to chip in where possible when setting up camp. Stiffer than he'd like from the horse ride, moving about unpacking here and there tended to aggravate his aches. Ordered to sit down, he settled on a spare crate, tending one of many dotted campfires in their makeshift camp. Dinner was a sparse affair of dried meats and cheese. The innkeepers had granted them a few loaves of freshly baked bread from the morning and Ryndan could still feel a small amount warmth emanating from his slices, their heavenly aroma pleasing his senses. The sun set an hour ago, seated around their basic campfire, he and a few other Crusaders spoke with some of their unrelated travelling companions- such as the one giving graphic accounts of his _conquests._

"Now, the most beautiful part of a woman is her back-"

"Her _back?_ Not her face or…or her front?!" cried Corporal Jason, holding two cupped hands in front of his chest. Ryndan chuckled at his enthusiasm, reminded of his less than respectful description of Luciya.

"Ah, yes, while they are also something to behold, there is nothing quite like the curve of her spine in the full throes of pleasure," the storyteller smirked. A warrior named Marcus; he was travelling along en route to Dalaran fresh off of the most recent ship in Valgarde, but was currently describing some of his exploits to some of the younger recruits much to their delight. Several young men sat around at his feet, intently listening as they ate, Ryndan just nearby, quietly finishing his meal. He knew he should halt the man, but it did him good to see the soldiers happy about something these days…even if it was lewd. And Light forgive him, he was curious to hear more.

"You see, lads, women are a mystery, their luscious bodies hidden beneath layers of fine clothes. If you are so lucky as to find yourself pleasing a woman bare, appreciate everything you see before your eyes and hear with your ears, for they are marvellous creatures." Ryndan laughed to himself at the gaping stares of the boys as they watched Marcus trace an outline of a woman's silhouette, his hands gently caressing each imagined curve.

"Head thrown back, mouth open, breasts bouncin'- _gorgeous_," he grinned. "Even more beautiful with hair loose and wild, though allow me to tell you about this one time I had a mage in my arms-"

"I think that will be quite enough, thank you, Jonathan." Several bodies up and scarpered at the sound of Commander Ashwood's voice from behind the grizzled warrior. Marcus stilled comically before recomposing and twisting around, giving her no doubt his most charming smile.

"Nhuada! Is that _you?_ Long time no see! You have not changed a bit! How_ are_ you doing?" Ryndan coughed into his hand as his superior crossed her arms and raised a long purple brow.

"Well enough, Marcus. I will kindly appreciate it if you do not corrupt my troops," she warned, though Ryndan was sure that he could hear a note of amusement in her voice. Does she perhaps know this Marcus character? If so- in _what _manner?

"_Corrupt?!_ Corrupt indeed," he scoffed. "I am simply telling the boys how to appreciate a woman's form," he waved his hands up and down towards her own long body, Ryndan barely containing his laughter at her unwavering stare. "It is not wrong to lecture them on how to respect the female figure-"

"Yes, thank you Marcus. I am well aware of how you can appreciate a woman's body, now kindly stop getting my men _excited. _Firesworn, stop that inane giggling and walk with me._" _She gave Marcus one last depreciating look before turning and walking by several other campfires. Scrambling to get to his feet, Ryndan grabbed his crutch and accepted a rough hand from Marcus.

"She's still quite some woman, I see. Had no idea she was with the Dawn now!" he smiled broadly, a mischievous glee reflecting in his eyes by the firelight. "As fierce as ever!"

"Oh she's fierce alright, I wouldn't cross her," Ryndan commented, sorting his twisted clothes with one hand.

"Still as beautiful as ever as well," Marcus sighed, looking to her from afar. Realising he wasn't following yet, Ashwood called for her lesser officer to hurry his backside along causing said officer to start hobbling along after her, bidding Marcus a good night. He limped past a few groups, laughing and eating merrily, most still overjoyed to be reunited with their lost friends from the attack on the north-eastern strand.

Catching up to Ashwood, they walked towards the edge of their camp, a few men and women posted periodically around keeping guard.

"Apologies for that small display, Firesworn. That man is impossible to reason with sometimes." She sighed, clearly irritated- much to Ryndan's surprise. The Commander was a hard woman to shake up in his experience.

"I understand, Commander Ashwood, and I apologise for my part in it. I didn't interrupt him for it did me good to see our boys light-hearted about something," he hobbled along her, noting she had slowed her long legs to allow him to keep pace with ease.

"Is that the reason you're giving me?" Ryndan grinned at her sidelong look, choosing not to answer. "That man is a rakehell and the sooner he is out of my travelling pack the better, if you ask me," she stated.

"Yes, Commander. If I catch him corrupting the men again, I will kindly ask him to do it in lesser detail next time," he replied, trying out his own charming smile at his superior, happily resulting in a deep laugh from the woman. Barriers and formalities tended to drop a fraction during downtime, simply reminding each other that they were all in this together and all were mortal to the same level, no matter the rank. It was small moments like these that Ryndan favoured remembering in the depths of night when sleep would evade him, not blood-stained or death-infested memories. Finaly reaching their intended destination, business was assumed once more.

"If you'll take point tonight for four hours, then I will take over until dawn. The other shifts have been covered and the usual relay in place. I need a commanding officer on duty I'm afraid and I cannot stay up all night- I promise you will have your rest come Westguard." She did sound sympathetic, and Ryndan understood, not wanting to leave some of the younger officers alone on watch.

"Quite alright, I'm sure I can stand here for a few hours- it's not that hard, Commander," he reassured her. With thanks and promises of a crate to sit on, Ryndan soon found himself perched a few metres away from the outermost tents with a grateful cup of hot water and tea. Armed with one of his own one-handed swords and his crutch, the blood elf settled into his watch.

A long time passed, the elf lost to his own thoughts, listening to the hustle and bustle dying down behind him as people settled into their sleep. His thicker travelling cloak was tight around him, sealing in the little warmth his own body could provide. Having invested in such a cloak some time ago, it did him a lot of good also recommending that his soldiers do the same as their ornate battle-cloaks, while easily identifiable in a fight, didn't make good for keeping one warm given their frivolous material.

Glancing to the stars above, he found that homesickness had ebbed his way into his subconscious. Without the duties of Captain-hood to keep him occupied, Ryndan found himself reflecting on his family a lot- especially after his near death experience. His two younger sisters were no doubt so grown now, having not seen them in months and helping their parents on the vineyard, making fine Eversong wine. His second oldest sister was now happily married to a businessman up at the main city and his eldest sister was climbing the ranks within the Blood Knights of Silvermoon. They had missed each other in the last two years when their leave from service didn't coincide. He missed her fiercely- not that he would admit that to her. A few letters here and there and news from home brought him up to date on her welfare and progress, and he found himself growing prouder of his siblings the older he grew.

Picking out several well-known constellations eased Ryndan back into the present, making him feel that he perhaps wasn't that far away from home, to see such a familiar night sky.

"Psst- _Dan!_"

No, it wasn't. It _can't_ be. Glancing furtively around him, squinting into the trees ahead and seeing nothing, Ryndan shook his head as he tried to rid his mind of the familiar voice. That blow he suffered must have damaged him more than he liked.

"Dan! Over here!" Searching to his left, a ghoulish outline presented itself in the darkness, Ryndan already part way to drawing his sword and standing.

"Stay your weapon man, what harm can you do in your condition?" Walden mocked, edging closer. Glancing around, the Captain was relieved to see that no one had noticed. The next nearest sentry was a good twenty-five metres away, chatting with his own friend. Being towards the very back of the camp himself, there was hardly any firelight to give Walden's presence away, not that Ryndan's nerves settled any further with this knowledge.

"Are you _mad_? What on earth are you doing here? You'll be skinned alive if any of the troops see you," Ryndan whispered urgently, still casting looks around. It was a sign to the severity of his purpose here that Walden did not make a silly comment at Ryndan's remark, plunging straight into business.

"I've been tailing you since Valgarde- I figured you'd be leaving soon after the stranded were rescued so I've been camping above you, awaiting you to depart. What happened to you?"

"I got on the wrong end of a fight, clearly."

"Looks it, though I imagine this is you looking prettier after a few days healing. I take it you won?" Walden's yellow eyes searched him, obviously having no trouble viewing him in this inky darkness.

"In a manner of speaking- I'm alive, am I not?" he retorted, angry that this man risked himself. "Why are you here, Walden? You should go before you're caught." They still conversed in low tones, though Ryndan found it hard to keep his voice level, several cusses and swears on the tip of his tongue.

"Look, I know you said no last time, but I'm on my way to New Agamand in the south and I need Cersae with me. She is the only one I can trust to interpret the Alchemy the apothecaries are creating. I'm begging you to reconsider" he pleaded. It was true; Ryndan had point blank refused to allow him custody of someone under his care.

"My answer remains unchanged, Walden. I do not hand over my troops this way and that at others' leisure." He was annoyed that Walden was bringing this subject back up, ignoring his firm answer and trying to get around him again.

"I figured you'd say no again, so that's why I've brought copies of their notes- at great peril, I may add- for you to hand to her. Let her look at them and tell you herself what they are working on." Said notes were brought forth from a large satchel, loose-leafed and scrawled.

"I will do no such thing. You told me that this is no threat to the Alliance or the Crusade, for what reason should I want to help you?"

"Look, Dan. I didn't want to alarm you at first, but even though they're creating a plague to wipe out the Scourge, they have also made it very clear that – _Goff Rothas!" _Ryndan jumped as Walden drew his daggers.

"Don't stop on my account, _Undead_." Commander Ashwood materialised toward their group, a dangerous gleam in her eyes as she looked at the Baron. Fear struck through Ryndan at the situation unfolding before him. While the Dawn and by extension the Crusade was neutral, technically there were no hostilities with the Horde at this moment in time. However, given recent problems involving the Forsaken, tension was a little on the high side concerning those of the Undercity.

"Commander Ashwood, I can explain-"

"No need, Captain. I was listening." Her eyes didn't leave Walden's form, no doubt ready to cut him down as soon as he moved an inch away. She had her arms ready to draw her curved sabres if necessary, something he hoped could be avoided.

"Speak, Undead. What is so desperate that you risk your stinking unlife to visit us?" She demanded, Walden flashed his eyes between Ryndan and his superior, his elven friend nodding in encouragement and desperately pleading not to confront this woman. To his relief, the Forsaken sheathed his daggers, but his stance remained taught in case.

"A plague, night elf-" Ryndan grimaced at the disrespectful wording used against his commanding officer, silently begging him not to rile her further. "The Apothecaries of the Undercity are here and creating a toxin that will wipe out the Scourge. If you are aware of the experiments on the boats of the northeast coast-"

"Oh, I am _very _familiar with them, _corpse_. I was on board one of those ships, watching helpless as my men withered before my eyes." Despite no one having moved, Ryndan felt the deadly contention in the air rise a notch.

"I apologise for that. I managed to contaminate their latest load before it could be dispatched onto you. Judging by the advancing results when they used it on an animal later, I was just in time- it may have killed you and your crew." Ryndan knew Walden sounded ashamed, even if he couldn't tell how genuine it was, but his superior would not see it that way. He wasn't allowed the time to appreciate Walden's efforts in sabotage.

"I suppose you are looking for thanks? Because rest assured, _Forsaken_, you are getting none from me."

"Nor do I expect anything, elf." Mort sighed purposely. "Look, you both have someone I need to make sure that this plague isn't what I think it is."

"Which is what?" Ryndan asked.

"Not just a plague to wipe the Scourge out, but any life if need be. They have said in as many words that they aim to make it something that can devour all flesh- living, dead _or_ undead."

"And why should this concern us?" Ashwood demanded; though Ryndan could see the alarm in the situation should Walden's words prove true.

"Because if successful and they wipe out the Scourge, what's to stop them using it on the likes of you, on my old kind? My friends?" he waved gloved hand to Ryndan, trying to make his point across. "Once they have eliminated the Scourge, there is nothing to prevent them from turning on any Alliance dog that made their lives more hell than we are already suffering. I may not look too kindly upon the Alliance as a whole, but I have no reason to want to witness another genocide, not when I lived through one decades back." His voice was grim and harsh, memories of Stratholme no doubt surfacing. "Just because they are my only kin now, does not mean I agree with them," he affirmed, trying to strengthen his argument.

"I see. And what is it that only we possess? What is so precious that you risk your dried up skeleton to come here?" Ashwood threatened, not so subtly resting her elongated hands on her sabre hilts.

"Cersae. The death knight girl- she is a gifted alchemist from way back before her Turning. I am sure she is smart enough to interpret these blasted notes and even help me sabotage their stockpile if necessary."

"And the proof that she is an alchemist? How can I trust that you are not just trying to steal her away to use her knight abilities for Forsaken use?" Ryndan asked, jumping into the conversation on her defence.

"I have her old journal here. I told you before I left Light's Hope that I was returning to the Undercity. When I was there I picked up a few things of hers that she had left behind before she was abducted into service." Cautiously, as to not make the two soldiers jumpy, he withdrew an old, leather-bound tome.

"A diary is your proof? That could have been written by anyone!" Ryndan cried, dismissing his friend's evidence.

"It is hers, Dan. Show this to her and watch as her mind awakens with memories. Not only is her own alchemical research in here but a few passages of her daily life as well. If her memory has not fully recovered yet, this will help," he pleaded.

"That is beside the point, Walden, just give her the diary and be done with it. There is no reason to separate her from the Crusade-"

"Hold yourself, Captain Firesworn," Commander Ashwood intercepted, suddenly seeming less angry. "I am listening, Undead. If she can read this and admit this to be hers, I will allow her to go with you." Ryndan whirled around on his superior, temper nearly lost.

"_Commander!_ She is under our govern and so our responsibility, once she is out of our sight-"

"I will be able to sleep sounder, safe as to say, Captain. Calm yourself, you are letting your emotions control you."

"I disagree, with all due respect, Sir! Without her I would not be alive-" despite not wanting to have a debt owed to her, Ryndan found himself fighting on her behalf, knowing she wants to be here for a reason. It was the least he could do for saving his life once. It would be twice over paid if he was successful in keeping her here.

"Allow me to correct you, Firesworn." She drew up tall, an inch higher than himself. "Without her I would not have had to listen to you _scream_ and _cry_ in your nightmare-induced state about the horrors she committed in the very act of saving your life. You were kept sedated and under control with use of a highly rare dreamless sleep serum that holds merciful short term memory loss as a side effect, allowing you- and thus everyone taking care of you- peace. I will feel safer in the knowledge that that _monster_ is not anywhere near my Crusaders and is in a hovel somewhere lounging with the scum of the earth where she belongs. I will not risk my men's safety on a dangerous trigger switch of hers regardless of _whose_ life she has saved. _Is that clear_, Captain?" she demanded crossly, each word enunciated like it was a threat on its own to defy her.

Ryndan was speechless however, unable to contradict his superior in light of this shock. He was sedated? _Screaming in his sleep?_ Raking memory after memory, Ryndan could not find the answers he sought to dispute her claims, ignoring his gut feeling that she was not lying.

"I will retrieve the girl and her affects. Await here, both of you." Turning on an armoured heel without waiting for an answer, Ryndan watched in disbelief as she walked back into the camp, unable to figure out what had just occurred.

"Dan? What happened? What did she mean by 'horrors committed saving your life'?"

Ryndan just shook his head, frowning, unable to give him the answer that they both wanted.

"I have no idea, Walden. I-I do not recall," he replied shakily. He remembered her in the recovery tent, shaken to the core at the idea of retelling whatever it was she had done in the ring. Ryndan had thought her to being shy, fearful he would judge her, perhaps, but he was convinced that he would not. In the end he never found out, no more information from her or his mind being divulged as to those particular events. He was beyond frustration.

"Has Cersae recalled anything?" Ryndan looked to the Undead warily.

"What?"

"Cersae- has she remembered anything?"

"Cersae? Err, I don't know, she hasn't said anything to me- wait. No_, wait_-" Ryndan awakened a little, questions popping up in quick succession in his mind. "Walden, tell me something. Her body- was it always like that? Stick thin and unhealthy?

"Stick thin? No, she was perfectly healthy, hardy in fact before she was turned. Why? Has she changed?" the concern in his voice was not lost on the blood elf, but he pushed on.

"Never mind, I'm looking into the matter as it is." Though with her being taken away, that jeopardised any plan he had of making her healthy again if the reason behind her degrading was found. After speaking with Yazmina on the night that Trueblade had arrived in Valgarde, a quest of his was in motion to contact someone in Dalaran for answers. Speaking of cities; "That brings me to another point, Walden. Why was she able to give a perfectly accurate description of Stormwind?" The blood elf's cogs began turning in his mind, pieces slotting together and some just not quite fitting yet. His undead friend looked stunned at the rapid change in topic.

"_Stormwind_? Are you sure?" Walden wasn't shocked at all at the mention of it, more puzzled, confirming Ryndan's suspicions. Though the repetition he was doing was grating Ryndan's nerves.

"Damned sure, I've visited myself on several occasions for Dawn work. I could practically taste the image she portrayed."

"Dan; I don't know, she never said-" Ryndan's temper was peaking again, having been knocked down after Ashwood's revelation.

"So she has been there? An elf like her? Is she a high-elf? Is that what you've kept from me?" Ryndan recalled Walden mentioning that she came from the south of the continent on the first night of their reunion. Was it Stormwind she hailed from?

"No, Dan. I haven't kept anything from you. She's not from Stormwind-"

"She can't read Thalassian, Walden. _Why? _What kind of elf cannot read her own mothertongue?" He cut across, anger taking over. It was a question remaining unanswered in Ryndan's mind since hearing of the manual retrieval at Cersae's doing. Too much time in the recovery gave him long enough to process what that had meant.

"What? How do you know she cannot read it?"

"I showed her that damned letter you left in my tent- you wrote it in Thalassian, if you do not recall, as to not be intercepted. She told me she didn't understand a word and judging by the look on her face, I can very well believe it. I thought that perhaps her memory loss impaired her literary recall and so didn't push the subject, but when she returns with a book we had been searching for written in the _Common Tongue_, she only could have found it on her own from reading the damn thing fluently. _What is going on?"_

"Dan, I cannot tell you, not if she has not even remembered-"

"Show me that diary, I want to see what language it is written in."

"I cannot, it is for her eyes alone-"

"Do not hide behind excuses, Walden! I am tired of these games!" He was readying himself to grab his sword at this rate.

"Captain _that is enough_!" Both men span around to see Ashwood stalking their way, face serious. Cersae, almost like a ghost peered around from behind her, a sack in her arms.

"_Mort_? Ryndan? What- what's going on?" she sounded scared, like he imagined a young woman might be in such bizarre circumstances looking between the two men.

"You are leaving with this…thing," Ashwood explained, gesturing towards Walden unkindly.

"I'm _what?_ " She looked between the three, clearly confused. She started backing away, "err, with all due respect I think I'll stay here, thanks. I have things to do-" Ashwood stood behind her swiftly, halting her exit.

"This is my camp, death knight. _I_ say who stays and who goes, and I am telling you that you are leaving. _Tonight_." Ashwood stated, brooking no argument. The death knight turned to the paladin, somehow hoping that he could prevent this from happening. He avoided her face, looking anywhere but at the white eyes pleading with him to make it not so. He felt a knife twist in his heart. Without being a part of the Crusade, did she stand a chance at finding her Edmund? Could Mort allow her the chance to travel safely through Northrend to find him? Given he was a human man, and most likely staying within Alliance friendly checkpoints, Ryndan doubted she could complete her quest with a Horde companion. He had failed in his mission to repay her. She had saved him twice and this was her reward.

"Why? What have I done that is so wrong?"

No one could answer her. Or would. Silence dominated the group for a moment, before Ryndan's Kaldorei officer interrupted.

"You take her and keep her far away from here, do you understand?" she ordered of Walden. He nodded and made to steer Cersae away. She jumped back, face angry.

"Do I not get a say in where I go? What if I refuse? I can run away."

"You dare risk to take on the wrath of the Argent Crusade? We do not dally with defiers or deserters too kindly." Ashwood spoke this with an alarming calm- not noticeable perhaps to their audience, but Ryndan knew better. His Commander was going too far in her threats. Before he could step in, Cersae puffed her chest out in indignation.

"So I have no say about whom I want to work with and for? Am I not a person in my own right?" she challenged, quite correct in her questioning, Ryndan thought. He wanted to reach out to her, to apologise for this, but his hands remained clenched at his sides. He just hoped that Ashwood would see reason-

"No, you are not. You gave those rights up when you sold your soul to Arthas."

In that moment, declaring that this poor girl was not a person to her face, Ryndan lost most of the respect he held for his superior. Watching Cersae's stunned expression he felt his chest tighten as she was led away slowly with no choice on the matter. Forced to work for whoever and wherever she was told, Cersae had in a way been forced into a violent prostitution of her abilities, simply being passed around as people wanted her, regardless of how she felt. Horror filling him as he realised he had done the same in the catacombs, just as Luciya had also manipulated her, Ryndan was flooded with shame and guilt watching her scarcely clothed back walk away, Walden already bidding goodbye and whisking her away to the south.

Just before they turned out of sight at the clump of trees, she turned once more. Haloed in the effervescent moonlight, Ryndan prayed for silent forgiveness as her expression said nothing but hurt and betrayal, before leaving as silently as a spirit, her back slumped and dejected. A woman's back was supposed to be curved and beautiful wasn't it? But Ryndan saw no pleasure in the view as she left, just sorrow.

"Even when all is said and done, Firesworn, she is a child who has committed terrible, terrible things. It would do you good to remember that." Ashwood said quietly, the exchange now over.

"Then perhaps you should bear in mind also,_ Commander,_ that this child is the reason that I am alive and she was doing her damnedest to seek repentance for her actions. Actions which she had no control over and is therefore not accountable for. She needed our _help_, not our judgement." Ryndan spoke through gritted teeth, not missing the small flinch she gave by his side.

Before she could retort, he picked up his crutch and stormed away, ignoring the pain in his body- for what could hurt worse than the treachery that Cersae had just felt by the Argent Crusade's hands?

* * *

A/N – Split into two chapters as I didn't want an 9k worded chapter, so for ease of reading, here it is twain in two :) Fun as it was, I'm secretly glad they're out of Valgarde. Just as they've stayed a month there, so have I in writing and posting it and I was getting sick of it a little. However, our group now splits as Cers is lead away on her own, separated from those she thought to be close to. On to New Agamand and Westguard!

Fun Fact #2- I have the prologue of Cersae's life written up to the point of her turning and it will be published once certain events happen and information revealed in this one. I hope that if you are interested enough in her background that you will read it when posted (as a separate story), as to gain a better understanding of her former life, including how she met Edmund and just why he is so important to her.


	21. Interlude I- Baron William 'Mort' Walden

The first thing that struck me was her voice.

Our initial meeting in The Highlands three years ago was…_poor._ True enough, my timing could have been a _little_ better; however there was something mischievous in me that wanted to cause a ruckus- and what a ruckus I caused! Stepping out into the sunlight from shadows before her dancing form, watching as she noticed me from a distance, I crying out in as ghastly voice as I could to scare her and annoy Edmund in the process…

Her knee-jerk reaction to seeing me was, well, something of a bad first impression, shall we say.

She had screamed. Not a terror-wailing-cry-of-horror that echo within the sewer dungeons, but a girlish, high-pitched _screech._ Several small animals in the nearby vicinity scarpered to safety- as well as her! Catching up moments later had found her face-to-face with a plains crawler and she didn't fail to utilise those chords of hers once more- by the Dark Lady if I had had eardrums, they _may_ have burst.

Saving her from being arachnid supper led to chasing her once more in her bewildered, uninformed state and I had to say, I quite enjoyed scaring her. Once she had calmed- many, _many_ hours later, I found her voice to be quite pleasing; in the sense that she was a sarcastic, fiery little chit who could give as good as she got. And so began our beautiful banter.

My favourite word from her was 'corpse'. She said it so smoothly, especially when insulting me, that I couldn't not find it endearing, bless her.

I've yet to hear her call me that again, even in jest and it makes my soul ache.

* * *

When she was kidnapped a few months later…it had been a few decades since I felt such terror rip through me. The thought of her in harm's way shook me, but the thought of her _harmed_ was an idea too grievous for me to dwell upon. I had grown to love her like my own flesh and blood in the few months we had known each other. She was an apt pupil and blessed child. Even watching her dwindle in misery as Edmund drew further and further away from her in his fanatical pursuit, I did what I could to keep her occupied. It distracted her enough, just not enough to take that sadness from her voice.

And then she disappeared from our sights, nothing of hers taken, just a diary entry as our only clue. And so we searched for days- only to find her in the clutches of that bastard Warlock! Locked in a cage, surrounded by death and Black Magic in the Plaguelands, Edmund and I looked on with horror. And then we were attacked by _atrocities. _

She called for help, screamed for us to rescue her, and I fought harder than my body would allow for to make my way there. Edmund managed to jump past the fray, me taking on as much of the attack as I could to allow him to get away. That dark orb of nothing was getting closer and closer to her, she had gone quiet and without knowing her fate, I had despaired in that moment of silence at the thought of her gone.

But then she uttered the words that caused her entire life to change. That voice which I had grown so accustomed to hearing and conversing with cried out terrible words that my poor spirit will never forget.

_"EDMUND, STOP!"_

And then she died. A gargle caught in her throat. I watched, sprinting as fast as I could to try to stop the outpour of blood from her mouth as she collapsed to the cage floor. The jerking…it was inhuman. The crunching and cracking of her bones breaking filled me with unspeakable horror. A final incomplete wail was her death's knell before her body disappeared out of our sight- along with the Warlock.

Edmund cried and cried, pounding the ground, destroying the cage she had just vacated without warning. I didn't blame him for pausing, human reflexes caused him to be startled at her cry, but he never forgave himself. In the months following he was fraught with madness at her gone. Searching the rest of Lordaeron high and low until he came upon that damned floating citadel, determined to follow and find it in the North, leaving without me on his journey.

If I ever visited that place again, where she had so crudely died in a way no person should, the dark stain would still be on the base of her confinement, so I vowed never to return.

I only vowed revenge for her, for Edmund, but for most of all, for me, for that Warlock took something most precious from me and for the second time in my life, I lost my family.

* * *

When we next met after the Battle for Light's Hope she had broken. White hair, transparent skin, hollow eyes, blood-stained, tainted soul. Even with all of this, I had recognised her from somewhere deep within me. And then she uttered my self-given epithet.

_"Mort." _

For the briefest of moments I heard her dying all over again- the blood bubbling from her small mouth, beautiful brown eyes wide in terror, and yet here she was, in front of me.

I looked over her for two weeks day and night before leaving. Her voice, her spirit, her soul – all were in pieces. No longer did she speak in fluctuating inflections, mutter under her breath as she calculated and theorised and sing poorly along to songs she barely knew the words to. No, now she spoke like _them_. Monotone, unwavering, unfeeling. The echo was absent, but it wasn't needed. When she said my name, it was wrong. When she spoke of her distant memories, it was wrong. When she said she barely remembered Edmund, it was so very wrong. When she waved off slaughtering the who-knew-how-many…It. Was. _Wrong._

Her passion had died when she had, and I wasn't going to rest while she was in this state until a cure had been found. Not for as long as these old bones of mine will still carry me.

* * *

A/N- One of several small chapters about the thoughts of some of the other characters in the story, starting with our beloved Baron and his own heartbreak.

Next couple of chapters are in rough draft at the moment, however this next arc is proving about 3x more involved than the first so will be a little slower in the updating. Bear with me please! On a more positive note, I think we're about a quarter to a third of the way through the story, give or take.


	22. Chapter Twenty- Theories

_Edmund isn't on a mission for the R.A.S. he's been dreadfully tricked and he's in great trouble.  
I upset Mort too much to ask his help and I need to go now, there's no waiting.  
I'll find him and bring him back.  
Grom'nish is meeting me at the Bulwark, I'll leave before first light, my pack is ready to go.  
I've managed to eat something today, I just hope that I can keep it down.  
Sleep won't come easy, I think, not while I'm worrying about him...  
My experiments will just have to wait, I'm sure Sally doesn't mind keeping  
her eye on them until I come back. When I find Edmund I'll tell him how I feel-  
I don't want to be here anymore, I want to go home no matter what trouble that'll put me in.  
The bats are so loud at night, I want to sleep without being scared of their  
screeching._

_Note to self- need more Plaguebloom, need to speak to Apothecary Lydon about that when  
I return. A new cauldron wouldn't go amiss either.  
_

_Cersae._

"So, I willingly followed this Warlock into his evil lair?" I asked closing the roughly bound book.

The Undead beside me paused, probably thinking of the answer that would least upset me, though I don't know why he bothered. "Not quite. Well, yes technically you went voluntarily, but as I understand it, it was under false pretences. So you were fooled, really," he rambled.

"Oh, that makes me feel a whole lot better about this Limbo situation I have going on here then. At least I know I was just an ignorant girl rather than a foolishly stupid one who signed up willingly," I cited, my temper remaining at its irritated state since I had left the camp late last night. We had been walking most of the night and day, stopping a couple of hours away from our destination to 'formulate a plan', as Walden had said. I had no idea where we were, the sun was close to setting and a low-lying mist was slowly coating everything within its shadow. At least the rock I was leaning against was comfortable.

"No, Little Girl, you were just doing what you thought was best. The Warlock fooled us all- you into thinking Edmund was in danger and us into thinking you had run away." His yellow eyes flitted to the leather bound journal in my hands. "We didn't find that diary until we had come back after- after the incident."

I had just finished reading the last entry, barely a quarter of the way through the book, the rest with blank pages of potential that never happened. It only covered about six weeks' worth of writing- some entries personal and others scientific, but either way it was gibberish to me. Reading this book was akin to reading someone else's life- something very far away that you only glimpse of no matter how far you stretch your imagination. Very little of it seemed remotely familiar, even the handwriting was foreign to me- and I only had this man's word that it was the truth and that it was mine.

So naturally I doubted it with every fibre of my being.

With last night's events and my overall self-worth dropping to less than dirt overnight, I had resigned myself that I wasn't going to be allowed my own way. Perhaps this was even my way of repenting through external forces denying me of what I wanted, no matter how virtuous my intentions are. It had come as a fleeting thought in a sea of turmoil in the wee hours before sunrise and helped calm me down since. Not that that stopped me from being very pissed off with my new companion, no matter how good _his_ intentions were.

Closing the book, I placed 'my' diary into my one and only sack with my few other personal items. My own parchment and inkwell still remained unused, just having found nothing worth writing down or recording as of yet. The gifted black ribbon tied my uneven hair at the back of my neck, making its odd lengths less unnoticeable. The comb…ah, yes, _the comb_. I had tried to use the comb but my hair declared war on it and nearly broke its teeth. Not wanting to damage the fine item beyond repair, I had patiently untangled it from my white mane and it sat at the very bottom of my bag. I turned to the sullen man across from me who was currently pouring over a detailed map on what I thought to be leather.

"So, what are we going to do to get this damned tomfoolery you seem to think I'm capable of solving over and done with?" I asked, unamused and unforgiving of whatever answer was headed my way. He glanced at me cautiously, no doubt sensing my general aura of 'You-can-make-perfect-sense-and-I'll-still-pick-a- hole-in-it' attitude that I was currently sporting. I had to say, I thought I wore it well. Leaning back on his heels from looking over the map on the ground he regarded me.

"Well, there's no hiding your appearance, you are what you look like at the moment-"

"A heathen mess? A bleached corpse? A-"

"_Enough,_ Cersae. I know you're angry with me but this is the situation now so cooperate and make it smooth or fight me and brace yourself for a rough ride," he berated, voice scratchy and gruff. I was unsure if he was threatening me or just pointing out the general state of things. Huffing, I decided not to find out, unarmed as I was just in case.

"I think you should hide your Death Knight persona as best as and carry on pretending to be a blood elf. An albino one, perhaps."

"An _albino_? Do you really think that'll wash with anyone who looks at me with two eyes?" I _really_ doubted it. So did Mort apparently.

"A _sickly_ albino, then. The Apothecaries probably aren't going to care one way or another but it would be best to hide any evidence that you can battle- using Scourge abilities no less," he spat. "But I would prefer they view you as a simple alchemist interested in furthering the advances in the plague, rather than complicating things. If they find out, who knows what sort of experiments they might try on you."

"I see. So you want me to make this plague of yours? I thought that kind of went against the rules?"

"No, I want you to interpret and understand it, not further it. Gain their trust so they show you their most up-to-date results and notes; find out what their plans for it are. If it's Scourge only then we are safe, but if it's being extended beyond that, then we have to take other measures."

"So infiltrate the inner workings of the dreaded apothecaries, investigate their research, report this back to you and counteract as necessary? Sounds terribly _espionage,_" I surmised, working a little feigned excitement into my voice.

"Yes, I suppose it is. Finely put." He seemed quite happy at my understanding of the whole situation, so I decided to put a dampener on it.

"Yeah, one problem there Baron, _I don't recall learning Alchemy_." I watched as his scabbed face fell drastically, unblinking eyes drinking me in determining how much of the truth I was telling.

"Your notes – they make no sense to you?"

"Nope, not a jot. I see numbers, letters, what I assume to be formula and measurements of some description but I have no idea what I am looking at." While my journal pages were easy enough to understand, albeit hard to remember, the dedicated alchemic notes were scrawled, untidy and jumbled. I think. Looking at them for the first time, I couldn't see any discernible order to the tables of results and observations. Theories and summaries here and there scored out and underlined. I secretly hoped this wasn't my journal, such disorganisation chaffing at my mind.

"I- I confess, I was hoping that they would help you remember." He _actually_ looked dejected. Marvellous.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Baron." I emphasised each 'B' grossly, probably winding him up further with any luck.

"And the Apothecary notes that I copied from Vengeance Landing? They mean nothing to you either?" He had shown me these notes before showing me the journal, watching me intently for any modicum of understanding. I shook my head, reiterating that I was as clueless as he was.

"You aren't lying to me, are you girl? Because if so, you'll be here a long time until you decide to cooperate-" I rose, stopping him in his tracks.

"Now hang on a moment, call me many things but not a liar. I have no intention of prolonging this- this _sidestep _you've dragged me on any longer than necessary. I came here to find Edmund and yet between you and the damned Crusade, you both seem to be content using me as your own pawn for your own means, regardless of what I want to do. The sooner this whole business is over with the bloody better, I say." I glared at him, the past few hours' tension coming to the forefront again.

"That better be the truth, girl or else-"

"Or else _what_, Mort?" I asked bored. "What on earth do you really think you can do to me? I can't die, pain has no meaning to me and if you haven't noticed I'm not scared of _anything._ So what exactly do you think you can hold against me to keep me in place beyond what I will behave on my own as?" I challenged, getting beyond irritated with his mightier-than-thou complex. And here I thought Ryndan was the arrogant one. Reacting to my challenge, Mort stood across from me, face serious and grim.

"You better watch your tongue girl, I am your only ally in these parts at the moment and you don't want to be getting on the wrong side of me."

"Ha! There's a threat if I ever heard one. Rest assured, _Mort_, I'd probably do better off on my own anyway. As it is, being with you is going to provide lodging and less hassle. At least this way you won't be following my ass around Northrend trying to kidnap me back here to do your bidding. Let's get this ridiculous situation over with so I can be free, deal?" I held out one small hand, regarding him coolly. Groaning a sigh of frustration, Mort grasped my hand and shook. I could feel the individual bones beneath his gloves wrapping around my limb, each hard phalange cracking with their curving.

"I want what's best for you too, you know, regardless of how this all looks," he said quietly.

"Yeah, well, that'll remain to be seen won't it," I replied, not convinced. For a moment we stood there, connected by a dead handshake in some absurd gesture of grace and formality, to be observed by no one else but two creatures who deemed such things unnecessary.

_"Walden is my formal name, but what're formalities in the after-life, eh?"_

"What?" I pulled my hand free, confused.

"What?" Mort questioned.

"Why did you say that? I know your name," I stated very confused.

"My- what? Are you alright? I didn't say anything," he spoke gently, trying not to spook me.

"But it was your- never mind," I frowned. Was that a memory? That was definitely his voice I heard, though it was gruffer than his present tones…

"Hmm, that's something you need to practice before we arrive," Mort interrupted my musings, tapping his grey chin.

"Huh?"

"Breathing, you need to at least act alive at any rate. I know you can't eat, so we'll just have to hope no one notices you don't take meals, but we'll figure something out. "

"Breathing? I- right." The man had a point; I would stand out horrendously if someone noticed my lack of respiratory action, especially in Northrend where such things are personified into puffs of cloud. "Alright then. Let me try this." Deliberately and slowly I drew a lungful of air, feeling my chest expanding beneath my thin shirt. The sensation was beyond foreign to my stale body, not having needed breathe for three years. I half-expected to let out dust upon completing the cycle.

"Now release," Mort gestured, pushing two hands downwards in a description of letting go, I assume.

And I couldn't do it. My chest didn't deflate, I didn't expel anything into the air, I just stood, puffed out like a balloon.

"M-Mort, I think I'm stuck." My voice was a little higher pitched and monotone, but that wasn't what pissed me off. Mort laughing his bony ass off did.

"Practice, Little Girl! Just takes some practice!"

* * *

_Westguard- Six Hours After Arriving._

"I'm concerned about you, Firesworn. Your attitude regarding the death knight girl seems unstable when it comes to reasonable situations. You did not maintain your cool."

"I have received a thorough understanding of her and her situation. I pity her, Commander. We are taught from birth to pity the poor and wretched, to help where possible. I cannot think of a more suitable candidate to fit such a description as her." He spoke. Even though they were speaking on a professional level again, the normal amity between them had dissolved. Caught on two sides of a coin, by landing face-up, Commander Ashwood had pushed Ryndan into the ground with her win, forever losing a great deal of respect.

"Yes, that is true, but she is a volatile element in my contingent that I cannot risk a Paladin's goodwill on, not when my men's safety is at risk. If she is as deadly as the report from the catacombs claim, and yes, I made sure to get the full description from that frivolous engineer, then even without that, the state that she carried you back in coupled with your trauma is enough to make my mind up. I shouldn't have to defend my actions, Captain, however I feel it is very important that you see the reasoning behind it." Ryndan noted the lack of condescension in her voice, but it still didn't sit well with him, her words. Staying silent for a moment, he let the words sink in. Yes, realistically, from an outsider's point of view he could see the merit in what she had done. Viewing Cersae as one-of-a-number is all very well and good, but she was more than that, she was a lost person. It had only been two days since Cersae had left, but her small, crestfallen figure still haunted his mind as it walked out of sight.

"I understand, Commander. My personal intentions to help her got in the way of my ability to think and I apologise for my rash behaviour," he said humbly, glad that things were partially resolved, but upset at the state she left in, not understanding.

"It's forgotten, Captain, just don't let it happen again." She paused, taking a long drink from her steaming mug. Giving Ryndan a pointed look she asked, "You are sure it is only pity you feel towards the girl?" The directness of her question on top of her unblinking gaze made him nervous and suspicious. The unarmoured Captain shifted under her scrutiny, not comfortable discussing such topics, especially in a public taproom- even if they were the only patrons still awake.

"Sir? If you are implying some form of inappropriate attachment to her, then I have to disappoint you. I find it hard to separate the image of her from my own younger sisters, finding myself questioning what would it be like if one of them was in her shoes? Does she have family concerned about her whereabouts? Do they think she is dead? She is younger than me, Commander, yet her life is already tragically altered through no fault of her own. Can you see why I sympathise with her?" he explained as earnestly as he could muster.

"In a sense. Good, that clarifies things up, however I must ask- how can you confirm that she did not join Arthas out of any freely made choice?"

"Walden- That is Baron William Walden, Ambassador from the Undercity to the Dawn- has known Cersae since before she was Turned and has said as much."

"What else?"

"I'm sorry?"

"What else is there to confirm his statement? Her word? No other witnesses? Records of her disappearance? Nobody reported it- her family perhaps?"

"Nothing has come to light as of yet, Commander, though I confess I have not looked too far into it since we have been preoccupied. If I may, I don't understand where you're going with this?"

"Let me surmise my thoughts, Firesworn." She leaned forward on the table, clasping her hands together in front of her. "We have two people who apparently knew each other from years back, telling the same story surrounding apparent- and highly _convenient_- memory loss on her part. No one else can verify that she was forced into servitude as their story claims, simply that she had no choice. Now, you have taken it for granted on this …_Forsaken's _word that this is the truth and questioned it no further, am I correct?"

"Yes, Sir, I did."

"And others take your word because you, who hold a rightfully good reputation, believe this to be true, thus spreading this story and making it more believable to the point it's not questioned. Now, providing that she puts on a good enough act, it's possible to follow this story easy enough to gain pity and trust where she just so happens to unleash unimaginable power in the most advantageous situations- like saving your life. By doing so, she grants herself a foothold in the Argent Crusade and can climb her way high enough to gain access to plans and information through her trust, does she not?" Ryndan stared at the violet-coloured woman, she may have well grown a second head first before seeming as shocking as this.

"Are you suggesting that Cersae is a Scourge _Spy_, Commander?" The very thought baffled him! His mind started to seek out every interaction he had had with her and whether she had questioned him further, subtly digging for information- and whether he had provided her with it or not. A small alarm planted in his mind, steadily growing with each passing second.

"No, I am proposing the possibility of her being a _Forsaken_ Spy. In cahoots with her Undead _friend,_ she has stayed with us for a month and possibly gathered information to pass forward to them in the event that she rejoined them- like she did two nights ago," she explained calmly, her tired eyes alert and steady with her intimations.

"And you just let her walk off with him with any information she may have gathered with the projected idea that _she was a spy in the first place_?" Ryndan was still struggling to get his head around the possibility- no, the _im_possibility of such a scenario. That small, frail girl? A spy! But despite his disbelief, the Commander made sense like a distant lantern in a foggy swamp of turmoil.

"Indeed I did, for my initial reasoning for her departure still stands. Information and plans can be changed, Captain, but dead troops cannot come back to life."

"I-I see. And what about her halting the Undead Plague? Will she in fact help them? You must think me very foolish, Commander," he said ashamed as he never even gave two thoughts to doubting her, let alone Walden. He had known that man for years, surely he wasn't so underhanded as to lie and scheme behind his back? Then again, his story regarding the Horde landing site raised serious thoughts regarding the long-dead Baron and his loyalties. Ryndan felt very torn.

"To your first question, I cannot say, that will remain to be seen. What I _have_ suggested is a possibility drawn from the mind of a cautious war veteran, Captain, nothing more. But no, I do not think you are foolish." She leaned back in her chair; long legs stretch out to the side. "To hope for the best in someone, even someone as lowly as a cursed knight, shows the strength of your character over mine. I can only say that I hope I am wrong in my conclusions- we shall find out if the Forsaken turn up 'unexpectedly' at sites designated for Crusade purposes. If it is complete with a working plague, then we will have our answers."

"That's a large risk, is it not?

"Not so large in my mind that I'd risk her presence here to prevent it. If she snapped again in the middle of camp, beyond whatever control she possesses and slaughtered who knew how many, then that would be on my hands for not ridding of her sooner." Her tone bespoke volumes of wisdom and experience, though the shadow of tiredness fell over it, dulling her sharp words.

"I understand, Commander. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me further on this." Somehow Ryndan felt that he would have a lot of late nights contemplating the enigma that the girl was.

"Think nothing of it, Captain. I am much, much older than you and more wary of people. I wish I could see the world as you do- positive and full of potential." It was the first melancholic thing Ryndan had ever heard his superior say in his presence, softening his overall image of the battle-worn Commander. It was a little easier to see that she was a mortal woman beneath all of her armour.

"Speaking of positive, a letter was forwarded from Valgarde to me hailing from Dalaran," the Sin'dorei said, retrieving said letter from beneath his jerkin and handed it to his superior.

"Dalaran? You have contacts there?" she asked, unfolding the finely-written response.

"Not personally, no, but Yazmina provided me with a name that could help our understanding of Death Knights as a whole. Given they are still a part of our enemy's armies I didn't think it would hurt to find out more regarding their weaknesses and strengths."

"I agree. I will be eager to hear your results. What started this off?"

"Ah, yes. Two days into Valgarde there was the first Vrykul attack." She nodded in remembrance. "Cersae was critically injured on the battlefield and I saw her healing powers at work for the first time. A wedge as big as my fist, right in her side- a halberd's work." Though he now had to wonder if her slipup and poor swordwork was intentional or not. Shaking his tired head slightly, he continued. "When she was in the Healer's tent, she was stripped to the waist and bandaged over her torso- but there was something disturbing about her, Commander. Tell me, physically, how would you describe a typical Death Knight?"

"Peak of their fitness, I would say. A perfect soldier's physique and posture," she described with an unhesitating factual tone.

"Precisely. Cersae however was not. She looked waned and sickly- her bones protruded from her skin, Commander. I've seen terminally ill patients with more health to them at the point of death than her. I could count her ribs, probably cut myself on the collar bone the way it jutted out. She had no muscle tone to speak of, sir- she looked physically starved to death, her entire body deflated and gaunt."

"That is very serious, Captain," Ashwood's posture changed from relaxed and loose to straight up and full of serious intent. _Just as well, she was going to need her wits about her for this_, Ryndan thought.

"I agree. I spoke with Yazmina and Lorik regarding the state of her later on and we were all baffled by it. Being the Port's prime healer and one of our own top ones, I thought them best to discuss it with but they said they felt nothing emanating off of her- no life, not anything, sir.

"So what of Dalaran?"

"Well…" Ryndan relayed the conversation to his Commanding Officer, the woman listening intently to every word.

* * *

_Fifteen Days after Landing in Northrend: Valgarde._

"It was a strange feeling, healing her arm wound. There was no life to connect to, no …" Lorik paused, unable to think of the words he needed. He frowned in frustration. Two years on Azeroth had taught him much- including the Common language seemingly spoken by the majority he knew- but he was still discovering new vocabulary every day. He gave up with a small sigh. His company understood his meaning anyway- she didn't need healing like most of his patients did, it was unusual and odd to do. Unnatural in fact.

"Yes, they are a strange being, these Death Knights," Thoralius added looking thoughtful. "They are not wholly dead, but not alive either," The shaman finished. Ryndan took this information in with little surprise. His thoughts drifted back to the 'discussion' he had had with the girl after the battle. He was concerned now, not only for her actions on the battlefield, but for her physical state of being and had sought information from those who may know better.

"She was so thin; I had not noticed it before beneath her clothes." The image of the skeletal torso- ribs and shoulder bones poking out painfully- rose once more in his mind's eye. Her arms were thin enough that he could have wrapped his hands around them and probably snapped them and her waist was distinctly absent as she flowed straight into her legs- which he had no doubt were equally as sickly looking. For such a strong fighter- for she had taken on a Vrykul and got him on his knees; something which took his Crusaders at least three of them to do- her physique lacked any indication of strength to even walk never mind lift an axe. He had pulled her from the battlefield mainly because of her poor fighting style- he had concluded that only in her strange frenzy could she battle well- but after seeing her body…he feared her breaking like a twig, so void was she of muscle tone. She looked as though her muscles had atrophied beyond death.

"Why do the others look so healthy?" He puzzled, it just didn't make sense. The two Draenei opposite him contemplated in their silent ways. As lead healers in their respective groups, Ryndan thought them the best to ask advice. Lorik had introduced him to Thoralius the Wise- a friend of his from way back when who was currently stationed in Valgarde. He thought of Darksworn, muscular and in his prime and other Death Knights- Thassarian and Deathweaver- and how they, while seemingly dead- still looked robust and strong, intimidating, even.

"Perhaps she was Turned while in that condition?" Thoralius interjected, positioning incense sticks in his strange angled fire pit. Night had fallen and the attacks on the port tonight were scarce- the source of light coming from the nearby bonfires as usual. Ryndan blanched at the idea of any living being looking as ill as she.

"I doubt it, but I will ask someone who should know." Said person being Walden- he had not heard from him since he left for the Undercity but added the enquiry to a mental list of interrogatory questions he had lined up for the Baron, alongside_ What in the name of the Light are the Forsaken doing attacking the Dawn_ and _Did you know about it?_ That was not a conversation he was looking forward to.

"Talia made some observations at Light's Hope Chapel about Death Knights. We attended a small handful after the main battle." Lorik started, looking deeply into the fire that Thoralius had now lit. He rest one large hand on his chin, stroking his black beard thoughtfully. "She had a theory that they were in a…" he muttered in Draenei, lost for words again, turning to Thoralius for help. Ryndan liked Lorik- he had met him over a year ago when Talia introduced them in Stormwind, before they had marched on the Eastern Plaguelands. Ryndan had felt strangely out of place in the Alliance Capital, but being of the Dawn, he was welcomed with open arms. He and the Draenei had an easy friendship- the Blood Elf had yet to find someone who didn't get on with him- and he was easy to approach, despite his large stature and stoic expressions. He and Talia made a good team, despite the rather comical difference in their statures.

"Stationary?" Thoralius projected, the two of them still trying to translate this word for Ryndan's benefit. He waited patiently, lost in his own thoughts about the situation.

"Along those lines- standing still in life, she said. Unmoving, un-ageing." Lorik continued. The port was quiet tonight, void of the portion who currently struggled on the north-east coast. Hopefully positive news would be received soon, or better yet, the stranded themselves.

"Stasis?" a female voice entered the conversation- a Draenei woman dressed in dark robes. The three men turned to regard her respectfully.

"Yes! Many thanks, Yazmina." Lorik smiled, her response a soft nod. "Talia's theory is that they are in a _stasis_, frozen in their bodies by powerful magic. I cannot account for their healing abilities or while they are animate and _conscious _even though dead, but it was not a comfortable feeling attempting to heal young Cersae."

"It's puzzling given that I have no idea what kind of magic is possibly involved to create such beings. It is best to learn as much about them, but they are shrouded in mystery. We may now be allied with them, but not all of Arthas' soldiers turned to the Ebon Blade. We only had those at Acherus and a small handful that have turned in Northrend upon meeting the Ebon Blade." Thoralius stated, his speech laced with a mild accent.

"It is a … dead magic I sense, when near them. They emit a void aura, it is empty." Yazmina told the men. Lorik later told Ryndan that she was an Anchoress, a priestess, by closest definition that Ryndan understood. She was a very gifted healer and had been at Valgarde since its founding. Falling into silence around the fire pit, they all felt as confused as each other not sure what to feel about their new allies.

"If I may intrude, I would suggest looking towards Necromancy as a probable cause." Everyone turned to the newcomer- a human dressed in the closest thing to finery possible in the harbour. He had long, greying hair, and a large balding head, but carried himself well. "Forgive me, overheard the conversation as I was walking by- Rowan Helfgot of the Royal Stormwind Society of Science." He gave a small bow, receiving four respectful nods in return.

"Necromancy you say? Death Magic?" Ryndan ventured, his mind now turning with ideas.

"Something akin to that. It's a bit more involved than mere 'Death Magic'. Death Knights, as you've guessed and most likely seen, are Harbingers of Destruction. Their power is not natural and derives from a forbidden source of some kind. Whatever power Arthas wielded to create them, it's most likely he's using the same to control the Scourge." His audience nodded in slow understanding. "It's even possible that he imbued the Knights with a small amount of this power to make them as seemingly invincible as they are. I know not enough about Necromancy to say whether it's the cause of their unnatural healing or not, but I would estimate that it is most likely related."

"Yes, they do not need nourishment or heat. Water is also of little use to them" Yazmina spoke confidently; she must have seen a number of Knights pass through here the last weeks and had a strong idea about them, possibly better than the rest of them. Ryndan was startled to learn they didn't eat or drink, yet he felt foolish for not realising. Mort had hinted at it, and now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen any of the two Knights in his charge at the dining hall or sitting around a fire with a bowl of broth. He frowned, not liking being out of the loop. He had seen the lack of warmth shortly after the second attack at Light's Hope- the girl had mumbled about not feeling anything while staring at a dead fire pit, but even if it were lit, Ryndan thought she still wouldn't benefit from it. What a sorry state to live in, he thought harrowingly with a small pang of pity going out to those who didn't ask for such an existence. He wondered if Walden was in a similar way of living, being Forsaken. A cursed race if there ever was one- the Undercity just reeked of death and decay… many of the inhabitants turning dark natured alongside their new afterlife. In fact, a few of them dealt with Death Magic in effort to cure their own curse…

"Warlocks- Warlocks used Necromancy, don't they?" Ryndan asked, surprised he remembered. He received three confused looks and one nodding-of-a-head.

"I do not know what that is, my friend." Lorik answered, his Draenei companions looking lost too. Helfgot straightened, stepping closer into the group. Ryndan caught a whiff of a very strong smelling perfume about the man, and granting his attire, he wasn't at all surprised at the man's attempt to stay clean and fashionable, though he wasn't sure why the man would bother in port.

"No, you are right. Not all Warlocks specialise in Necromancy, as far as I am aware, but they have a stronger knowledge and can most likely give you answers than any person here. They are a rare breed, given the, ah, _controversial nature_ of their studies." Helfgot inputted. Ryndan had not met any Warlocks personally but had come across them in his own studies growing up and hearing rumours from Walden about the Undead ones. 'Rare' was one word for it, extremely secretive and highly unlikely to find' being more fitting. Their reputation wasn't entirely admirable or trusting, he had learned.

"Walden had mentioned a Warlock being the cause of Cersae's turning," the Elf told his companions, frowning. This theory of Necromancy was looking more and more likely. "Yes, he definitely blamed a Warlock." He crossed his arms, the others watching him curiously.

"Right, we need to find a Warlock or two to question on this, and also, I think, we'll recruit our Death Knight friends in learning their limitations. Like you said, Thoralius, we need all we can know about them as possible if we are to fight them intelligently." Ryndan's mood lifted a little, having been troubled since seeing the girl in such a frail state, even though she had such fire in her eyes- her irises whiter than her hair and skin, glaring sharply into his own when they argued.

"Dalaran is probably your best bet in regards to finding a Warlock, but don't hold your hopes up." Helfgot said, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

"I think I can put you into contact with one, but allow me to ask his permission first, before granting you his name," Yazmina said, her voice soft and calming- the best kind for any sort of doctor in his experience. Her general presence put people at ease, hence why Ryndan was surprised at her knowledge of someone as dark as a Warlock.

"Thank you, Anchorite Yazmina, your help is greatly appreciated."

* * *

"So this Warlock has agreed to see me whenever I can visit Dalaran," Ryndan relayed.

"As of the present time there are no plans to go via Dalaran, however I cannot stop you visiting if you went on your own leave time now, could I?" Ashwood smirked. Ryndan laughed softly, the dying fire in the room long indicating it was past the time to go to bed. He drained his own mug of hot milk and sat it to the side, face serious once more.

"I do believe I have some unused leave time available. I can settle the troops in here first before taking a break to go there once everything is in place. How long are we like to sit tight here?" he asked, not sure if his rank was to be in the know of high-level information.

"About two to three weeks I think. The current update from the frontlines proper as of four days ago is that they are still constructing the main bases at the entrance direct into Icecrown- apparently there's a large metallic gate blocking the way. I shouldn't say we are surprised, it would be unfitting of our aggressor to be without his own defences otherwise I would be sorely disappointed," she grinned. For someone as feminine as Ashwood appeared out of armour, she had a distinct battle-thirst that few possessed. Not often did Ryndan come across someone who respected war and revelled in it like she. "Once this portcullis- dubbed The _Wrathgate_- is besieged and taken we can push further to his fortress. However, they cannot hold our numbers until the keep is complete, so we'll march once word has been received," she finished, finishing the last dregs of her tankard in one swoop.

"I can take a few days out to travel to Dalaran then and seek this Warlock and his advice, with any luck we can make some significant advances and hopefully arrive prepared. In the meanwhile I spoke with Terowin Darksworn on the matter and he stated that it was unnatural but couldn't say why she was like that. He theorised that when she was turned- if indeed it was forced- that her will to resist may have carried over into Undeath and she still fights without realising. Due to this, she has cut herself off of the power that feeds her from Arthas and is dwindling. When she 'awoke' at Light's Hope, he said it was like a rope was lassoed around her for the past three years, and she was resisting, pulling away as hard as possible but upon coming around the rope snapped and she fell backwards, thus indicating her bodily decline."

"Very poetic for someone _like him._ A very interesting theory however, it's a lot to consider. I'm glad it's you sorting through all of this than me," she smirked earning a tired smile from Ryndan. He found it conflicting with the ideas put forth by Ashwood, the very idea that she is a spy gaining trust in the ranks. He could not commit to either hypothesis on what she was, caught between wanting to believe in her, and putting facts together to draw a logical conclusion.

"Indeed, it's a bigger undertaking than I anticipated. But even so, surely she cannot fake her own physical state, regardless of her loyalties?"

"I am unsure to what extent Death Knights can control their bodies, for all we know that as much as they can make themselves stronger than ten men, perhaps they can take it to the opposite end of the spectrum also? Who's to say what lengths creatures like these will go to get what they want."

He drew his rough hands over his face, feeling the patch of growth on his chin indicating he was long overdue for a shave. Tomorrow, he resolved. "A scary potential if you are correct, Commander. I don't like the idea of it."

"Nor do I Captain, nor do I."

* * *

A/N- Next two chapters are again in rough draft and undergoing scrutiny, but again, I will be a little delayed in posting it until I am satisfied with them with such an intricate plotline. On a different note, we have hit double digits with favourites and follows and I want to thank you all who have taken the time to read my story and reviewed/fav'd/followed, it is the best feedback an author can receive. Much love x


	23. Chapter Twenty One- Diverging

_Westguard- One Day after Arriving, Early Morning; Four Days since Cersae Departed.  
_

Taking a deep breath, Ryndan rested again, unable to get through a simple task like shaving without his shoulders jilting in pain. He had slept poorly after speaking with Ashwood last night, so many theories and dreaded possibilities swirling around messily in his head. Waking this morning before morning prayers and breakfast proved to be more of a feat than taking on four vrykul at once- or so it felt.

"I can help you with that, if you would prefer?"

Glancing in the crooked sheet of metal serving as the mirror, Ryndan was met with the image of Bartheleus- well dressed and in the bathhouse for the same reason as himself judging by the equipment in his hands.

"Thank you for the offer-"

"Captain, you are still recovering and your arms will tire from trying to stay as still. I have experience, allow me, please," the night elf mildly commanded. Sitting his tools down, he steered Ryndan onto a roughly hewn chair, facing another 'mirror'. A little more luxurious than Valgarde, the general furnishing and architecture of the keep and surrounding buildings seemed grander and held more comforts than Ryndan was used to when on campaign.

"This really isn't necessary, I appreciate your offer but-"

"But you fear your name falling into bad rumours with mine?" there was no offense in his deep voice, in fact Ryndan would wager a keen amusement as the man formed a lather in his wooden bowl, well defined hands expertly working. Ryndan's own shaving bowl was ceramic and decorated with flowers- something of a gift from his youngest sister Anelisa- before he left on his first campaign years back. Well made, it had yet to even chip during any of his campaigns, occupying a very particular niche in his travelling luggage.

"Rumours?" Leaning his head back at the direction of the Kaldorei man, Ryndan looked up to him, noticing the near-black beard beginning to form on his long face. Wincing as the soap was applied over the small cuts made by Ryndan's own unsteady hands, Bartheleus smiled and explained.

"Being associated with me in the wrong way could potentially harm your reputation, Captain. Stay happy though in the thought that I am no longer for men's' disposal- or anyone else's for that matter, as I mentioned to you before. Sadly, _my _reputation for my previous occupation isn't as well received as Luciya's is in these parts. The settlements become a little bit more _cliquey_ the further north one comes." Ryndan shared a sardonic chuckle with the man, assuring him he cared little for such talk. Content that Ryndan's jaw was covered, enough; the night elf gracefully admired the Captain's own shaving blade, commenting that the intricacy of the handle was beautiful.

"Thank you, a birthday gift- many years old, accompanied with the home made bowl," he explained, remembering his father gifting the fine item many years ago. "Were you a barber before- well, before…"

"Before I became a male whore?" he laughed deeply. "No, it was one of many services offered at our particular bordello. We were to attend to the clients in as many ways as they could imagine from personal care and hygiene to massage to sex and even to being rented out for a simple conversation. Though, I confess those sorts of clients were far and few between unfortunately."

"I'm surprised. Forgive my lack of knowledge in the area, I haven't visited one." The blade scraped cleanly across his cheek, the usual friction Ryndan felt when he attended his own shaving absent. This man truly had talent.

"It is not to everyone's taste. Mine included if I am honest." Gently tipping Ryndan's head back further, the larger hands ghosted over his neck, softly curving the blade to the shape of the under-chin.

"How long did you work there, may I ask?"

"Several years."

"And your reasoning for entering?"

"Little choice had been offered to me leading up to my employment there, I was desperate. However, when Luciya left an opportunity presented itself and I broke free. I daresay if I ever make my way back to the city I will not be welcomed kindly by the underworld of Stormwind." Cleaning the blade, he set it away carefully, caressing the wooden handle before laying it to rest in its rightful box. Taking Ryndan's worn towel, he dabbed the newly bare chin clean, his sharp eyes seeing everything in the mirror from behind Ryndan.

"You left under unfavourable circumstances I take it?"

"Yes, you could call them that." He scrutinised Ryndan further in the mirror before retrieving a pair of scissors and comb from his own pack. "Face the front, your hair needs sorting."

"But-"

"Trust me, you will thank me later. Part and parcel of the training I received, I can make any man or woman work with what they have and your hair grew out of its style long ago." Ryndan had noticed this as well as his itching beard and had vowed to visit a barber as soon as he could allocate one. Seeing as one had presented itself of their own free will, Ryndan sighed and leaned back, leaving him in the mercy of this man who apparently knew best.

"May I ask- was it to do with the engineering accident Luciya suffered, your departure?" The wet comb that had been gently working its way through Ryndan's brown hair stopped, the flash of anger not missed in the mirror.

"There was no engineering accident," Bartheleus muttered, his long artist's hands working their way again. Throwing Ryndan a cautious look in the mirror before checking that the bathhouse was still empty, he sighed. "It's a simple cover story because neither she- nor I for that matter- want to remember." Ryndan had little opportunity to speak to this man directly, but knew his severe face from about Valgarde and now Westguard. His strong nose, serious brow and high cheeks gave him the image of being someone quite startling and angry, but in his little experience with the man, Ryndan found this not to be true. His eyes bespoke a quiet intelligence few in Ryndan's company possessed. It was the kind of smarts that came with crude experience and steep learning curves. Despite his admissions to being a prostitute, Ryndan found the man to be very likeable- a trustworthy companion almost and seeing how diligently he cared for his female co-worker from afar, Ryndan grew to respect the man from a distance. So now, discussing something obviously painful to him on behalf of Luciya, there was a subtle danger to the man that intimated anyone who cut in his path would be grievously harmed. Ryndan was caught between admiration at such resolve and concern at such immediate reactions to dire situations. Temper- in his experience- was a killer.

"I apologise for enquiring, Bartheleus." The comb started to tease the knots out of his overgrown hair once more, slightly harsher than before, perhaps.

"No, you have a right to as our protectors and guard on the journey from Valgarde to here. There is no harm in knowing, and I feel you should know, Captain. Luciya has found a friend in you that few are privy to and it is important you understand her if you are to help her." The Captain was humbled by such a statement. He had counselled the woman, but only as he would any other man or woman in his care. He nodded his thanks in the mirror, receiving a small berating in response to moving his head mid-cut.

"She had a lover- an exclusive one, and they were in their unorthodox relationship for nearly three years. Her patron paid good money to the House, more than any other companion there made in a month, to have Luciya to herself. Their relationship went beyond mistress and prostitute, evolving into something more complex. It was this woman who introduced Luciya to her mechanical fetish- which as you've seen, Luciya soaked up like a sponge." He paused, inspecting his handiwork atop Ryndan's brunet head. "And then there was an _accident_. A large one. Alone with Luciya in her house, her lover invoked an explosion, killing two people outside the house as well as most of the people next door. At the last moment, Luciya had been pushed to safety by the woman, receiving only the scar you see her bear. Out of fear and grief, Luciya left to come here, and I followed. We didn't come north straight away- she needed time to heal, and not just physically. She initially refused treatment and it took to literally holding her down to apply the salve and bandages. She cannot cry out of her left eye, anymore. Eventually she passed her grief and we took the first ship to Valgarde not looking back since. The North has this way of wiping slates clean- you could be a prostitute, a sinner, a criminal, a pirate, a deserter or any number of things, but when you step off of that boat- your identity is your own to make. And so we made ours anew."

They sat in silence, the only sound of scissors trimming hair- each snip ringing loud in his elven ears- alongside his own heartbeat as he contemplated the pain that woman hid so well.

"I am glad you trusted me enough to confide in me, Bartheleus."

"As am I, I know you won't abuse this information. You can look past her profession to see the broken woman beneath." Ryndan's face fell. He wish he could say he solely saw Luciya on her own, but several times in his thoughts did the fact that she was a prostitute rose bidden in his mind in front of her, a blunt reminder that she sold herself willingly, clashing with his Light-orientated ideals. Frequently he had to remind himself not to judge her- yet he found that he didn't possess this problem with the man currently trimming his hair.

"There we are- much tidier and more professional looking," the man exclaimed, proud of his work. Admiring his new look in the mirror, Ryndan was pleasantly surprised. No longer was it a partially-brushed mess in the morning before drills. Now it was neatly combed to one side, granting an air of sophistication Ryndan wasn't aware he possessed. Standing, he thanked him. Reaching for his coin purse to pay, Bartheleus waved him off.

"No pay necessary, call it a thank you from me. Without whatever you discussed with Luciya on the trail, she wouldn't be back to her normal self. So it is my gratitude you should be receiving." He bowed low, making Ryndan feel uncomfortable.

"Let us consider ourselves equal then," Ryndan held out his hand, taking Bartheleus by no doubt pleasant surprise. Offering a grin, the taller, darker elf clasped the Captain's hand, sealing their new found friendship.

Later, exiting the bathhouse clean, Ryndan's new friend asked with an unusually meek voice, "My reputation does not bother you? Most refuse to associate with me with the knowledge I used sell myself- and with men also." Pausing in his step, Ryndan turned to the night elf, regarding him amusingly. Issuing a great laugh, Ryndan chided him.

"Sir, let me assure you, that is one of the farthest things that could disturb me, or do you forget I hail from Silvermoon where such things are not uncommon?"

* * *

_Day Two at New Agamand, Four Days since leaving the Crusade._

"I say we lure one away at a time and then dive in for the big one," Lynara suggested. Not a bad plan, in my opinion, _not_ that I'd tell her that.

"No, mon- we must go in for a queek and eezy kill- straight to de hed," Zul'khar inevitably argued. A terrible plan, in my opinion- which I_ will_ be telling him.

"That's a stupid idea, troll, his death will surely alert all of those around him to our presence- _then_ how do you propose we get the blood, hmm? Pick them off one by one I say!" she answered back, her voice harsh and impatient. Best be careful or she might upset her pretty blonde hair, I thought.

"I ain't takin' no ordahs from no preest-"

"Shut eet, boat o' choo, I am tryin' to form-ulate a plan," a third person entered the fray. Balija, the _other_ troll in our hodgepodge of a group.

"Can I make a suggestion?" I asked for the second time, my first lost in the elf and troll's minor fray to my far right, only the leader heard me this time however.

"No- hush tiny one, let da fightas han-del dis," Balija chastised, turning away from me again.

"Well, it's really simple, I promise," I pressed, the need for it becoming more and more urgent. I received a very irritated look from my blue-skinned leader as she looked back at me.

"What iz it? Can you not see we are beezy tryin' to get choor blood, eh?"

"No, I appreciate that," I pointed just a ways ahead of us, "it's just that there's a Vrykul somewhat headed our way and I thought you should- oh wait, never mind, Gresh'na's on it."

We all watched on as the fearless orc marched a few feet away, dangerously swinging her axe in a trajectory with a gruesome landing, us not even having noticed that she had left her post. Our hideout was hidden by a few sparsely placed trees and a large boulder, but other than that we had been sitting here for the better part of half an hour debating the best course of action. Seemingly Gresh'na grew impatient with the bickering and didn't stop in her tyrade to return to us. Scrambling up with the other three we followed quickly, keeping close to see her but far enough that she was the first thing the large men and women went for. Balija moved forward to stand nearer her, the two polished maces that normally swung at her hips now occupying her tri-fingered hands, ominously engulfed in fire and power.

Being somewhat the weakest of the group, or at least by looks, Zul'khar, Lynara and I stayed at the back. I had to confess, I was extremely bewildered about how I ended up with these four.

Mort and I had arrived yesterday at the settlement 'New Agamand'. From a distance early in the morning, tall sharp spires had arisen from the low-lying mists, seeming far more intimidating than it actually was up close. Upon entering the town a feeling of revulsion had overcome me. The ground had been mud drenched and slippy; any paving down was negligible compared to the stone paths of Valgarde-which as my time here grew I found myself missing sorely. People milled around in torn clothing, carrying crates of rotted goods judging by the leaking contents and skinless horses walked around, their bones grossly visible beneath their barding. The architecture certainly drew one's attention, but even so, it wasn't the most daunting thing in the town- it was the large glass canisters filled with green ooze spread around the place that sent a chill down my spine.

"That's the plague?" I'd whispered to Mort, slowly dredging our way into the town centre as we passed one of these 'plague wagons'. It was a large wooden structure on wheels had numerous tubes and pipes exiting it, the whole thing chugging like it may explode at any given second.

"The most current strain, probably," he'd replied. "There's a handy Vrykul village north ripe for testing, you see." Even Mort regarded them with distinct distaste, a look on his face betraying his hatred for it, possibly more so than death knights. We had walked by a large pit filled with The-Light-knew-what, but presumably apothecaries stood around it with their apparatus and notebooks, watching it intently, ghastly mutterings heard under their breath. I didn't want to look into the pit, I heard the sickly bubbling, the stuff sounding like it wanted to violently disgorge itself from out of its crude containment whereby my response to that was to shuffle away from it as soon as possible, thank you very much. Safely out of view, we approached the inn, Mort granting us two rooms out of his own pocket (like I'd have it any other way) before beginning to sit tight in this ooze-hole for however long.

Shortly thereafter I was introduced to one 'Chief Plaguebringer Harris'. A tall man (or must have been in his previous life), he towered over Mort and I wearing something akin to noble finery – in mourning black naturally- with mismatching, bug-eyed creepy leather _mask _complete with two small barrels acting as a mouthpiece_._ And since meeting this…'man', my life spiralled out of control once more. Introduced, without my permission, as a budding young alchemist by my _dear Baron_, Harris nearly jumped on me with welcoming to 'the cause'. Pretending to be the nervous creature we had deigned my new persona to be, I mumbled my thanks and nodded meekly. Mort's theory behind this was 'the less I say, the more they do', so my mouth stayed shut. Personally I think it was a ploy just to keep me quiet after all the grief I gave him on the journey here.

"We've been spraying the formula down at the Vrykul village of Halgrind for weeks now and they just won't drop dead!" the 'Chief' had explained. Lowering his tone, he had thrown one long, skeletal arm over my shoulders and leaned in a bit too close. "Let's face it, girl, by now our Plague has been exposed to humans, dwarves, dogs, livestock…you name it. As our strains adapt to their hosts, more impurities get thrown in the mix. What we need is a strain made custom for the Vrykul's biology."

Quietly going along with his words, I agreed and umm'd and ahh'd where necessary to keep his attention all the while silently giving thanks that I couldn't smell his breath, I had a feeling it would be _putrid _without the mask.

"So, Halgrind's chieftain fled the town after we took it over; you'll find him west of here according to our intel. As a patriarch of the Dragonflayer clan, his blood is ideal, wouldn't you say?" Harris finished with a maniacal toothy grin. Nodding my compliance, I walked away with my first task, an overall feeling of ill and a group of oddballs claiming to be my protection seeing as I was a 'poor defenceless woman'.

As Mort predicted, the Forsaken were unconcerned about my appearance, however, the group of four who had jumped at the chance to escort me for 'blood retrieval' where less than convinced. I stared at the 'people' in front of me, not entirely sure if I was hallucinating or not such was the oddity of the mix. There was a blood elf- tall, lean and snobbish looking, that much I could identify. She had a look of constant derision on her pointed face, with sharp features to match. She scrutinised me much the way I did her. Her dress was pristine white, a high black neck to her chin and a matching black stole falling straight to her knees with a long blonde tail hanging over her flat chest. If you asked me, she belonged in a high-class ball rather than a trek across the frozen fjords. How impractical…

The others were…less identifiable to me. Mort whispered that the two blue-skinned things were trolls, hailing from the Durotar deserts, whereas the tall- what I took to be a man at first- green muscled giant was an orc. The female 'troll' stepped forward, offering a three-fingered hand. I tried not to stare too much as I shook it, the sensation of such thick fingers on my person being rather odd.

"Hey der, we be de Durotah Defendas, we'll be es-cortin' ya on yar quest." Mustering what grace I could to thank them, I couldn't _not_ stare at her attire. Bright orange and red armour gave the overall impression of her being on fire; however a contrasting spout of dark blue hair sticking out of her scalp in sharp vertical fashion clashed wonderfully with it. Up close, despite her tightly drawn face and two hand-length tusks, she seemed friendly enough even if her strangely glowing maces resting at her waist spoke a different impression. She introduced herself as Balija, leader of their 'guild', with her twin brother Zul'khar being second in command. I still don't have my head around that quite yet. Comparing the two twins I couldn't find much to relate them barring skin colour and race. Where Balija stood straight and tall, an air of ferocity about her, her sibling rather went in the opposite direction.

Slumped, dull-eyed, splay-tusked and wearing a _dress_, he regarded me with a goofy smile, a tuft of bright _pink_ hair very distracting atop his towering form. Strapped across his back were two strange looking wooden items that I couldn't even begin to fathom as to their purpose. Cautiously I shook hands with him too, the brown leather gloves no doubt tailor made for his unique limbs separating me from that weird feeling I'd had from Balija. I had to say, his nose was _very_ impressive- I bet that was fun when he sneezed- _if_ he sneezed.

The last in the group was a very silent, very overbearing, heavily built creature with such green skin she could almost match Terowin in the sickly-looking department. I sent a nod in her direction, receiving a terse one back, before she returned to staring at something in the far distance, arms crossed, one black pony tail donning her marvellously bald head and angled face. I figured I didn't want to be on the receiving end of the spiked and grizzly looking ax she bore on her toned back. Even beneath her tight armour I could see her individual muscles bursting to get out.

_What _had I gotten myself into?

Following this group out of New Agamand, not far from where Mort and I had previously travelled only recently into a pack of violent Vrykul was making me currently question the advantages of this plan and if it was really worth it. Deciding I should seem defenceless as the weak alchemist I was, Mort had barred armour and weapons for me, instead he had thrown a plain travelling robe and cloak at me from his own pack, telling me to redress before we had entered the Forsaken town. It was such a nuisance- I kept tripping on the hem, the sleeves were too long and the cloak kept blowing upwards and into my face depending on how the wind felt.

I hated every minute of this. And I decided Mort was going to meet his true death upon my return to New Agamand, whether he liked it or not.

The walk out here had only taken two hours or so, but we had postponed it from yesterday after reports of a 'Storm Giant' was in the area and the group had decided not to risk running into it- whatever it was. So early this morning, waiting for them to rouse from their sleep, I had poured over my journal and alchemy notes in an attempt to remind my brain about any of it. Safe to say, I had received _nothing_ in response. Mort had seen us off, the news that I had remembered nothing crossing his face in small emotions of disappointment despite his best efforts to conceal it. Even though I had been forced to come here with no regard to my own wishes, I still felt a bit guilty about not being able to do what he wanted me to.

Small talk between us had been made on the journey- Balija asking about my background, me making something up about studying in Brill before coming out here. They seemed to buy it for the most part, or at least I think they did. No one questioned me further though Lynara did make noises of contempt and disbelief at odd times. I ignored her, thinking that I had put up with Terowin, so I could certainly put up with her snobby attitude.

And then we had arrived at the Vrykul camp, arguing over the best course of action until Gresh'na decided to take charge.

"She's quite deadly with that ax, isn't she?" I noted to the two companions either side of me. The priestess 'humphed' her agreement, obviously finding it hard to agree with me on any point and Zul'khar- a shaman I had learned, just watched with his jaw hanging low. Balija danced her way around another Vrykul, throwing him into a tree with her weapons, striking hard- the impact causing fire to eat away at his clothing and skin. The screams dulled soon as an overhead swing crushed his skull into the ground. Given an impressed whistle, we slowly followed in their path of destruction, Gresh'na not even pausing as she was charged on her right flank, the body of her opponent crashing to the ground before stilling. And then the chieftain was in our sights. Marked by his grander attire, resting beneath a crude tent, the two female assailants circled their prey like lionesses. Realising the danger he was in, finally seeing the lack of bodyguards around him, the vrykul roared, bearing his own crude long blade, swinging in wide circles, to keep the melee around him at bay. It seemed to be working, neither Balija or Gresh'na could get near him, both jumping back with each swing of his polearm- or at least until an actual _lightning bolt_ struck his back. Looking to my right, I saw the origin of the bolt- Zul'khar, crouched, hands working quickly, summoned more lightning and quickly fired it once more at the target. Following the bolt's trail it shot off into the distance as the large man dodged it having located the source of his next attacker. He got ready to charge at the troll- and then by extension, me and Lynara as well.

Swearing I lifted my accursed robe and went to intercept the incoming blow- the other two were not able to catch him before he launched in our direction- before I was violently pulled back.

"What do you think you're doing, you fool!" Lynara hissed in my ear, dragging me back. I fought her grip, watching too late as the man came within feet of us and melee range of Zul'khar- and then he dropped dead. Highly confused I stared at the body-_ hadn't that just been moving_?

"Nicely trown, Gresh'na, might be a new record," Balija walked up towards us, her weapons no longer glowing, resting on either shoulder as she smirked at the corpse. Finally registering his body properly, I saw the orc warrioress' ax embedded deep within his back, the blade more than half way covered. She had _thrown_ that beast of a weapon? Even with all of my strength I doubted _I _could pull off such a feat.

"Gotcha sa-ringe ready der, alky-meest?" Balija asked of me.

Fumbling with my belt I answered, "yep, right here in my- my...my bag…where are the bags?" Five heads searched the nearby grounds in mirrored confusion. The syringe I needed to withdraw the blood with was in my bag, complete with several stoppered vials for multiple testing purposes, without it, I'd be carrying the blood back in scooped hands- something of which I had _no_ intention of doing, might I add.

"The boulder we were hiding behind, obviously. Why didn't you keep it on you?" Lynara put forth. _Why don't you just zip that mouth of yours, hmm_?

"Because we sat there for ages and I wanted to get comfortable, if it pleases you," I spat, turning on my heel back through the trees. What a bitch- ever since we locked eyes on our first meeting yesterday, sparks have flown and I found I disliked her immensely. The sooner this mission was over and I was rid of her the better. Muttering curses not suitable for a delicate priest's ears, I rounded the boulder- and stopped in my tracks.

"Erm, guys? Are you sure we left the bags here?" I called, not liking the look of the bare ground where we had sat. A quick glance revealed no clues as to their whereabouts. This was _bad._

"Are you sure you're behind the right stone, _Cersae?_" Lynara chimed in once again, approaching with arms crossed, clearly annoyed at having to wait for anyone, Light forbid. Each step she took was carefully placed, I watched on as she avoided everything as if she were about to stand in manure.

"Yes, your highness, I'm sure this is it," I threw my arm wide, the very imprints where our knees had pressed into the earth visible from earlier. She reached me, nose in the air and inspected the site. Not saying a word- an indication that I took that I was right- she surreptitiously peered around the area. It didn't escape my attention that she was bagless too- _hypocrite_. Heavy footfalls indicated another arrival.

"What iz de hold-up?" Zul'khar asked, joining us, his wooden idols still strapped across his back, clinking in a way I was reminded of windchimes.

"Our bags are missing- this is definitely where we left them, so where did they go?" The three of us started to spread out; _where the hell did they disappear to? _A sharp cry caught my attention and I turned to see the troll brother pointing southwards.

"Ova der- dem beasts 'ave 'em!" Zul'khar took off into a sprint, spraying mud in his wake leaving me and the prissy one alone.

"Where is he going?!" Lynara voiced my thoughts, watching him run away in an awkward stride.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me," I muttered. He aimed towards a shoveltusk herd currently moving away from our position. Looking beyond the running troll I could see a backpack hanging off of one of the bigger one's front tusk- and the contents were spilling out ungraciously. With my practiced breathing, I sighed heavily.

"Of course, it _would_ be my bag, wouldn't it?"


	24. Chapter Twenty Two- Omnia Causa Fiunt

_Westguard- Three Days After Arriving._

"Good morning Commander, how did you sleep?" Ryndan asked of his superior whose violet head was currently bent over her paperwork.

"Good morning, Captain," her voice was distracted, no doubt from the letters in front of her. He had received a message from a younger officer that she was looking for him and sought her out straight away, finding her in the cosy tavern. Their time in Westguard had been short so far, but the troops were settling in easy enough, the people perhaps a little bit more laid back than at Valgarde, possibly affording them the luxury of social time beyond meals without imminent threat from attacking Vrykul. Several times he had to tell the troops off for getting too carried away with drink or women. As a general punishment, he sent them out to the front of the keep to gather cannonballs that go awry and far afield. The impropriety died down very quickly after volunteering their services to Ely out front.

"Firesworn I need you to-." Looking up, her gaze flicked to his hair before a smile fought its way onto her face. "-I need you to speak to the quartermaster please on behalf of the Crusade and find out what supplies they can provide our men and how much can be spared, then report back to me, we're finally meeting Captain Adams today and from what I hear, his temper is not too favourable." There was an satirical '_lucky us' _that went unspoken in her tone, nearly enticing a chuckle from Ryndan- but he held it in, just.

"Ah, yes, I have heard similar from the innkeeper and Canoneers out the front of the keep, sir. I'm sure he'll give you no problems though."

"Hmm, I don't doubt it. I know how to handle men, and dwarves at that," she pursed her lips before gathering her paperwork from the tavern table, evidently finished. He was not surprised she had to attend to her administration down here in the taproom. The 'bedchambers' in the inn were small and sparse, but warm- only a cot and small trunk being offered. Housing many guests and traders, only the officers took up space in the building, the lesser-ranked soldiers and support setting up their reinforced tents on the far side of the keep- shielding them from most of the sea winds that battered the highly placed settlement. Their first proper day here, Ryndan had stood by the cliff edge admiring the iceberg-infested waters before him. It was a magnificent view also serving as a harsh reminder of their mission here. His long ears were not too fond of the cold, nor was his still-weakened body.

Normally Ryndan refused such privileges as an inn bed, preferring to keep on level ground with his men and women, but this time the Commander ordered him inside for the sake of his health- _"you're not fully healed yet- just rest; the troops won't begrudge you that."_ So tonight, he looked forward to a feather-stuffed mattress and quiet; no wind battering his tent canvas in the dark, just listening to it through his small window instead. A little guilt would flood him whenever he thought of his men out there, but they were all hardy and strong, not to mention well equipped with thick furs and blankets. The few still recovering from the plague-exposure and starvation who are still in serious condition also resided in the inn and filtered out whenever they were fit enough to camp properly. Easy to say that the Argent Crusade were funding the Alliance Expedition pretty heavily in this town.

"We have received word from Commanders Kunz and Faalstav- they are currently stationed in the far east in somewhere called 'Zul'Drak'. I don't know a lot about them, but it sounds distinctly Trollish to me- I don't envy them," Ashwood reported, a small expression of affront crossing her fine features.

"Are things well with them?" Ryndan asked. She merely tightened her mouth in response and quietly checked for any prying ears listening. Dropping her voice, she said, "No, it seems they're having quite a hard time there and will be unlikely to break away anytime soon for the official assault on the Wrathgate. That was at least two contingents we could have used, but they report that they are snowed under, if you'll excuse the pun."

"I have met Commander Kunz, but not Faalstav personally. That sounds like a heavy loss." Ryndan could imagine the giant draenei paladin that had joined their ranks not two years ago and risen quickly. He was a devout man, truly and Ryndan was surprised he was not higher promoted. "Do the Captains Brandon and Rupert not fall under Kunz?" He knew of them from the Plaguelands assaults- both fine men in their own right. Rupert was one of the few Forsaken in the Argent Dawn who probably wasn't up to something underhanded- unlike Mort. An oddity in itself, his devotion seemed to trace back to the original Silver Hand before he was turned. A sad tragedy, he could no longer invoke The Light as he pleased- a thought that terrified Ryndan; to be forcibly cut off from something he was zealously immersed in in his everyday life.

"I believe so- they're in league with the Ebon Blade it seems, who arrived not long after we did. Kunz is a brilliant tactician, even if a little full of himself- _not_ that you'll repeat that to anyone, Captain," she gave him a reproachful look. "But yes, he's definitely going to be missed at the main assault. I might just reward myself with a trophy of war from it to wave in his face once we've overtaken the Wrathgate," she smirked. It did Ryndan good to see his Commander relaxed. The past month at Valgarde must have been hard for her he imagined, losing her sibling on the first landing day but now her subtle humour was seeping its way back into her conversations. She had been withdrawn and tight-lipped, only really speaking to issue orders and commands- like a leading soldier and officer should even when burdened with such grief. He was very glad his own eldest sister was not involved in the Northrend Campaign, simply residing in Eversong with her Blood Knights. He doubted he could go on should he have lost her on this foreign land. The respect he foolishly lost a few nights ago- an incident that he was hurrying to forget despite his dream's best efforts- was quickly gaining back with every talk they had.

She rose from her table with her paperwork and donned her cloak- it was a fancy type, a little too purple for Ryndan's taste, probably something from her homeland of Darnassus judging by the intricacy of the detail on it. He had heard stories from fellow kaldorei about the island, but he had never been there personally. It sounded peaceful- maybe one day, he longed.

Allowing her to take the lead out, he followed her to the door, now able to keep up with her gait, and pulled his hood up over his head, Ashwood doing the same.

"Good idea, wouldn't want to mess up your hair now, would we Captain?"

"With all due respect Commander- _what is wrong with my hair?_" Several people had given him bemused looks and on one occasion yesterday, Corporal Jason had received a slap to the back of the head for his snickering. Since his new haircut from Bartheleus two days ago, he felt smarter than he had in a while. Living on campaign was not an easy and clean task and having his hair and growing-beard tidied up offered Ryndan a small amount of hygiene and attention to self that he normally could not afford at war. They were all jealous, he decided. He probably did stick out a bit looking neat and prim- not that they didn't attempt to achieve that with their inspections every morning, but sometimes it was just not possible to look_ completely_ tidy. A carefully bred lotus in a nest of thorny weeds is how he felt right now.

"Nothing, Captain, it suits you very well."

"Hmm."

"Is that disrespect for your commanding officer?" she spoke over the high winds as they crossed the town centre- the large keep standing tall and strong in front of them, one eyebrow firmly raised against him.

"Never, Commander! I'm cleverer than that!" he shouted back, pulling his thickest cloak around him. Luckily, he was only donning his chain-mail shirt under his black Argent Dawn tabard; his sword-belt secured around his waist otherwise with full armour on his cloak wouldn't offer nearly so much protection for the bulk. Admittedly, his mail shirt felt heavier than it previously did.

"Then the next time you brood over your looks in dispute to something I say it will be 'Hmm_, Sir'_, is that clear?" They reached the keep, gaining quick admittance under the portcullis and ducked into the entryway before the main courtyard.

"Yes Commander Ashwood, next time I will mope with more respect," he gave her a mocking salute before shooting her a grin and heading off to the keep's storerooms to seek the quartermaster, trying to shake the water from his cloak. 

* * *

_New Agamand- Day Four; Same Day._

"Cersae."

"So the Third Law directly corresponds to the theory that the natural materials used are-"

"Cersae…"

"And therefore cannot be redirected or undone in any way, shape or form because that would mean contradiction of-"

"_Cersae!"_

"thus going back to-huh? _What?_ I'm reading, man!" I threw my arms wide indicating the pile of texts surrounding me, pissed off at the intrusion.

"You're wanted downstairs."

"Me? Why?"

"They want to know if you want to join them for mealtime."

"'They'? Oh, ah. Right, one moment." I closed my book and set it to rest on my bed, my journal and quill beside it. I had spent two days holed up in my dingy room studying one of three books on Alchemy that Mort had scavenged from the storerooms of the laboratories. Judging by how dust-covered they were, no one would be missing the tomes any time soon. Exiting, I passed Mort who was hanging through my doorway- until he grabbed my arm and for a moment, I tasted blood.

"_Oi_, watch it!" I said, receiving a very vivid flashback of a vivacious redhead yelling similar.

"You're not breathing- sort that out then go downstairs," he indicated to my still chest.

"Ah, right. Cheers." Deflating my annoyance, I filled my lungs, feeling them work needlessly at the intrusion of air. With practised focus and management of tensing of the correct muscles I was able to expel the air. Repeating the process over and over until I fell into what I guess could be considered normal rhythmic breathing, I mock-saluted my friend and went downstairs, careful of my overly long hem, Mort creeping back into his room to do whatever it is Undead do in their downtime.

The inn of New Agamand was dark and cold-looking. A pathetic fire flared in the far corner of the kitchens, several benches and tables lined about against the wall making the place resemble a workhouse of old tales than a dining area. A skeletal 'cook' stood near the fire, stirring a cauldron of something gross bubbling inside it, threatening to escape no doubt, and at a middle table- as the only occupants in the room- sat the Durotar Defenders.

"Cersae- ova here!" Zul'khar waved with a lopsided grin. Remembering to breathe I joined them, confident that I was convincing enough to pass as alive

. After the shoveltusk incident two days ago – to which Mort bought me a new bag (bigger and sturdier!)- I had nearly been caught out. When we had reached the beast who hijacked our belongings and strewn them over the fjord plains, I had wanted to break his large tusk off and shove _it _somewhere painful- but the group, namely Lynara-Queen-of-Pristine- had oh-so-snidely commented on how fit I must be to not be out of breath unlike the two hardened warriors in the group. Realising I had dropped the respiratory practice in my distraction I had to hurriedly pick it back up and pretended to be laboured enough, after all it was no secret that I looked ill and sickly- I shouldn't be able to run that far and fast without grossly straining my system. It'd be nice if I actually behaved as nature intended, that is breathing properly, however being the unnatural abomination that I was I tended to bend a few of nature's rules and even break them in some cases to the point of cheating at life, almost. I did not fall ill, I required no rest, I healed ridiculously fast judging by my previous Vrykul-related injury, had inordinate physical strength and I also did not eat- something that these four in front of me were unaware of.

"Hey, guys. I heard you wanted to see me?" I asked, mainly addressing the trolls seeing as the orc didn't speak (or so I hadn't witnessed anyway) and the elf's general presence bothered me so I didn't care about her.

"Ya mon, wonda'd if ya wanted to jayn us far some food. Eet isn't roasted boar but eet izn't 'alf bad," Zul'khar explained with crumbs spluttering in an impressive trajectory from his wide mouth. How do they manage to eat with those tusks in the way? _Politely_, that is? His bowl of brown gunk certainly didn't look appetising- especially if it was from the same stuff as the cauldron over there. I was silently glad I didn't have to resort to eating...whatever that was.

"Oh, thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid I ate earlier and not feeling very hungry right now, but thank you for the consideration. I have some work to be doing so I'm going to leave you guys to it." With a nod and a glance at Her Highness, I bit my cheek to save the laugh threatening to spill out at her clear distaste of her evening meal. Oh I wanted to memorise that look for ever; in fact, I wondered if I could induce it somehow-

"Ah, 'old eet dere, alky-meest. We 'ave bizzy-ness to dis-cuss wich ya. Seet down." Ah, right. Well, judging by her tone, Balija gave a there-is-no-other-option-here order so lifting my robes, I chose to sit across from her, beside Gresh'na and away from the priestess at the far end.

"What business?" It had taken me two hours of listening on the trail out to the Vykrul camp two days ago to understand a sentence that these two said, their accents were strange, chant-like and mispronounced on so many levels. My brain struggled to keep up the translating as well as pretending to breathe. Multi-tasking was something I clearly had to work on. I found myself envying the living as they didn't have the problem of thinking about their breathing and everything else at the same time.

"We 'ave been axed to head to ze west to test out de plague. Geeven you are de only alky-meest kwal-ee-fied to do so, you need to come wit us."

"_I _need to? Why me? There are loads of apothecaries in New Agamand, why not ask-"

"Because they are busy with their own studies and seeing as you are free and available sitting in your room all day, you are perfect," _and _there she was. Not getting my wish of absolute and definitive silence from her, Lynara had reared her blonde head to butt in. Brilliant.

"I see- and I'm qualified to do what now?"

"Spray de eggs wit plague."

"_Eggs?"_ A vision of me spraying the plague on a frying pan with eggs came to mind- what would_ that_ achieve? Better cooking than here, probably...

"Yes, we are to head to de Emba Clutch to da west. You are to record de results that an alky-meest would need and we will pro-tect choo like last time." 'Emba Clutch'? What was that? _What eggs?_

"Right. I…see. When are we set to leave, seeing as I have no choice in this matter?" I asked instead, figuring I'd find out whenever we headed out.

"Tomorra mornin' after de storm has passed tonight." There was a storm? How long had I been in my room? Venting my irritation at my no-choice manipulation once again via a hard, heavy sigh, I agreed and told them I would see them in the morning.

"We'll see you for breakfast, don't be late," Lynara chimed in. Breakfast? Oh no no- I would have to pretend I had slept in and avoid it. The memories of my vomiting at Light's Hope still haunted me whenever food was presented to me and I had no desire to repeat such an event. Ever. No matter how much Mort wanted me to wear this 'living' guise, I was not doing that. Nope. And now they actually needed my alchemy, oh this was not good. I would have to do double the reading tonight that I had planned.

"Sure, see you tomorrow," I replied stiffly, making my way to the exit in my fussy robes.

As I was walking out the room I heard Zul'khar laugh- "Lucky me, eh? Get to go on anuda advencha wid tree of da prettiest ladies I know."

"Only three?" I heard Lynara dispute.

"Ya mon, mah own sista doesn't count-ow!" A hard thump ended that insult.

"Treacherous snake-charma," Balija said. Heading up the stairs the sound of laughter carried up with me, somewhat wrapping around me and creating a warmth the fire in the dining hall could not produce. They weren't bad people, I just wish they weren't so caught up in the plague mess and all that it entailed. While I wasn't so thrilled about the idea of being in Lynara's gracious company again, the others were quite favourable and the lack of deliberate avoidance from my peers certainly felt nice for a change. Luciya, Bart, Fav-no, Fordring and even Ryndan were alright with me, but there was a lingering...condecension about them that they probably weren't aware of. Or if they were, they just hid it very well. Just for a moment, it'd be nice if I could remember this and how I used to be the same before my Turning- welcomed by those around me with open arms; invited to dinner like tonight, wanting to be spoken with just for the sake of my company. Why had I given that up?

"Everything alright?" Mort asked, popping his scraggly-head out of his door. In this light it looked black, unlike the faded auburn colour of days gone by that it used to be. Surprisingly, for a brief moment I missed my thick brown locks.

"I think so- we're heading back out tomorrow to test the plague out on some eggs or something at the Ember Clutch," I mumbled. How does an alchemist record things properly? I'd have to look back at my own notes from before to make them seem plausible… Or maybe I could just forget my notes altogether and report it back verbally…? "Oh the eggs? Yeah, they were plagued alright." Hmm, perhaps not too convincing. Back we go to studying Ephrim's Laws.

"The Ember Clutch? That's drake territory," he said quickly. I threw him a sharp look and decided to beckon him into my room. Locking the door behind me I sat on my pathetically stuffed mattress and bade him to sit down.

"What are drakes?" I inquired.

"Dragons- or something akin to them. Fire-breathing flyin' types-ah cwap" I watched on as Mort's now-dislocated jaw hung loosely from his face.

"_Dragons?!_ Aren't they children's stories?" An almighty 'click' and a bit of wiggling managed to re-insert the offending joint. A large red leather book flicked through in my mind, an elaborate picture of a dragon jumping out at me.

"Certainly not," he stated, face as deadpan as ever. What, no explanation?

"Err…right. Anyway, about the results- what should I report?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you brought me here to figure this plague out. What about the results on these dragon eggs then? If the plague is successful on them, how should I report it? Well? Exaggerate it? Hinder it so their research and testing is slower? What? Help me out here," I pleaded with the man beside me. He simply gave me a long look before stretching and sauntering to the door. Each movement was accompanied by a groan or creak somewhere on his person, almost seeming as unattended as the doors joining each section of this poorly built inn. Turning to look at me again, I received the weird feeling like I was being assessed. His scrutiny sent chills throughout my nerves. I'd received a lot of judgement since my awakening a few weeks ago, but- but it had not disturbed, bothered or unnerved me as much as Mort's lifeless gaze did right now.

"I'll leave that to your discretion, I think. You decide what to do." And then he walked out.

_...Really?_

* * *

A/N- Apologies for the slow update, I'm doing a lot of preperation for some work that's going to be done to the house but it will be over by the end of the week (Thank Goodness). Also- I'm working my way through a _little_ bit of writer's block; I have so much material that I don't know where to start! So even though this is a somewhat slow chapter, as the title suggests, and as I firmly believe like a doctrine when reading a story, everything- and I mean _everything- _every little word you read that the author puts on paper is deliberate, never underestimate the tiniest of details :)

As always, thank you for your reading time x


	25. Chapter Twenty Three- The New Plague

_Five Days after arriving at New Agamand._

"Just stay still!" Lynara hissed. Tenderly, I'll reluctantly admit, she was using some blasted healing spell to deal with Balija's wounds. Despite her front as an iron-willed leader, the troll was a bit of a crybaby when it came to being burnt. Or scorched. Or toast, as it nearly became. For all she held her tongue at Lynara's gentle ministrations, her squirming was doing all the talking about her pain.

Our venture into the Ember Clutch had been…slightly successful. I had felt a little uneasy about the cask of plague resting across my back all day, a specially made 'spraying tool' attached to the container for application. It had moved as liquid does in motion while walking, the weight slowly sloshing about on my back with each step. No one had offered to take it from me since we had left New Agamand that morning- I didn't blame them, who among the living would willingly touch something that could theoretically liquefy them instantly? I had to keep my hand away from the trigger pull while carrying it, as when it had been demonstrated to me this morning by 'Plaguebringer Tillinghast', the trigger had proved to be a little loose and thus sensitive to touch. Deciding I'd rather not coat my companions and bodyguards in it, I had held firmly onto the barrel and handle of the contraption.

This plague canister that I had been assigned at New Agamand was now thoroughly empty and the spray-nozzle broken in two. Albeit, due to the clumsiness of Zul'khar combined with his dithering I had ended up dumping the whole plague on not only three drake eggs, but very nearly him and me also. The horror I had felt in that minute moment once the physical embodiment of the Society's hard work had nearly fell upon us had been so great as to make my heart beat twice- two loud, large thumps pounding in my chest startling me into crying out. With hindsight, I would have looked like I was starting at the plague being disposed in one go, but only I knew that it was the jumpstart my body nearly underwent out of mortal horror.

Watching the priestess at work, I admired Balija's minor burns, grateful that she and Gresh'na were keeping watch not far from us when the eggs dissolved around the foetuses, revealing fully formed and birth-ready drakes. When Mort had told me they were akin to dragons, he wasn't wrong. Viscously they had leapt from their shells to attack their aggressors, no doubt angry at their gestation being disturbed. Clumsy and wild they had slipped in the puddle of plague, all three now heavily coated in the toxin, resulting in…nothing out of the ordinary to my sight though the stench left a lot to be admired.

Small, razor teeth snapping and puffed up in possibly an effort to barbeque us, I had stumbled over Zul'khar and his infernal robe, landing us both on the burnt earth ready to be these babies' first meal- until our help had arrived. Slaughtering them quickly, the shaman and warrioress had saved us, Lynara catching us up from her position in the back of the group, near the edge of the forest. As resident healer and only source of wound-tending we had, it was decided she be kept the safest at the back.

Zul'khar had received a thorough telling off from his twin, while I worked up the courage to don heavy-hide gloves to deal with the whelplings. Their parents were nowhere in sight, the perpetually burning forest creating a veil of smoke over it preventing any natural light filtering through; determined to live on by its own source of heat only. Screeching roars had been heard in the far distance and other eggs nearby were starting to wobble dangerously. Annoyed at the loss of the plague in its entirety, I had taken off my cloak to wrap around the three small corpses and said bundle now sat a few feet away in a drenched, makeshift sack. I'd look at them later, when everyone had fallen asleep. It had taken us most of the day to travel there and about two hours before sunset when we made to go in, perform the deed and come out- only that had fallen flat on its face.

Now seven specimen's short of the desired amount for testing, we had to make the long trek back tomorrow to New Agamand with less-than-brilliant results, though some of me didn't wonder if that wasn't a good thing. Even so, I didn't like leaving something so unfinished in this manner.

"You're next." Looking across the fire, I saw Lynara's glowing green eyes staring back at me, her face ominously flickering with the shadows that only a campfire can bring. Begrudgingly I admired the fact that her light-blonde hair haloed around her face a bit_ too_ conveniently.

"I'm fine, I didn't get hurt-"

"You were next to the plague when it spilled everywhere- nicely done by the way- and Zul'khar is exhibiting chest pains. You're next, no arguments." Striding over to me, I struggled to think of an excuse to get out of this. I couldn't let this happen, the dull headache I had suffered being so nearby while she healed the others had nearly subsided. Much like Ryndan's burst of Light in the Catacombs all that time ago, being in such proximity to its workings was painful still. However, mercifully it wasn't in as large a burst as the Captain's own example of power, instead small and gentle waves of healing as she inspected the damage after each invocation.

"No, honestly, I am well and about the plague-"

"Be quiet, take off your robe," she ordered, fussing over me.

"_What?!"_

"Off, now. Or do I have to force it off? I can and will if I must." She insisted, brooking no argument. I searched for help- Gresh'na was out gathering firewood and no doubt keeping watch, as she was keen and prone to doing. Balija was now resting on her mat a little a ways and her twin brother was snoring loudly next to her, a soft wheeze evident in his breathing. On my own, _as usual._

"I don't want to. I'm fine as you can see." Crossing my arms in defiance I watched nervously as she raised on long eyebrow and looked entirely unconvinced. She wouldn't seriously force me, right?

"You don't have to hide it from me- I know your 'secret'," she didn't even lower her voice, simple sorted out the wrinkles in her smoke-marked white robe. I gaped.

"M-my _what _now?"

"Your secret, though The Light knows why you bother hiding it- that you're Forsaken? Don't deny it," she held up a hand halting my protest. "I can _smell_ it on you," she stated distastefully and not without lifting her nose in disgust. She thinks I'm…?

"Oh, well, I – didn't…that is…erm…" Why didn't Mort just think of that? An albino blood elf … by The Light, _that man_!

"Cersae, I'm a priest, I am _highly_ sensitive to all things unholy and Anar'alah, _yours_ is one unholy stench. I've been around a lot of Forsaken but yours is just unsettling." As much as I wanted- and was going to go along with this- I didn't appreciate the insults.

"I apologise for offending your senses, oh holy one," I said stiffly. She held out her hand.

"Give me your robe."

"Why? If I'm Forsaken then I'm not going to be affected by the plague am I?" I challenged.

"I'm not so sure about that- they want it to destroy Scourge, don't they? Aren't you essentially the same make-up?" A…very valid point I had not considered before.

"I- I suppose so."

"There it is, so I need to see if there's anything wrong with you and also you have a hole in your robe, so give it to me. I cannot abide wrecked clothing." I once again eyed her marked dress but said nothing. This was the nicest she had been in the few days I had known her and I did not intend to spoil it. Decidedly, I removed the feeble brown garment and handed it to her, the woman retrieving a needle and thread from somewhere on her person.

Sitting in silence for a small while, dressed only in my grey woollen shirt and frail leggings, I stared into the fire, Lynara softly singing a hymn of rejoicing- a typical song for any spring celebration, I believe. She threaded very well by firelight, the sky overhead cast and dark- no stars tonight. The light of the Ember Clutch lay behind us, a near-hour's walk from our camp. Luckily, I doubted rain would grace us with its presence tonight, leaving a dry night for the fitful sleepers.

"All done- looks like a claw slash, I wouldn't be surprised if you had a corresponding wound to go with this at your waist," she looked pointedly at said spot on my body as if willing the wound to show itself. Grumbling I knelt and lifted my shirt a way up, revealing …nothing.

"Hmm, there should be something judging by the depth of this tear, and their claws didn't look that dull… still at least I have confirmed your race, that explains your ghastly figure some. I would hate for someone alive to look as wretched as you."

"Thanks," I muttered in deference to the mending of my shirt and her not-so-hidden verbal offense. Throwing the robe back over my head, I welcomed the comfortable weight that such a garment provided with all of its thickness and warmth.

"Much better. My talent is sorely wasted, I tell you," she sighed heavily.

"Do they- the others- know?" I asked meekly. Much like the feeling in Valgarde when Luciya and Favian-Fordring learned how I felt no emotion, a pit in my stomach formed at the idea of the rest of our party knowing I had purposely lied to them, even if I was covering that lie with another lie.

"I doubt it. Gresh'na might but she won't say anything, it's her forte to remain silent as you've seen. Balija is trying hard just to keep our small guild of four afloat and make a name for it whereas Zul'khar is too busy cocking things up and is in his own little world to pay attention to anyone else. Thankfully they're not privy to your _unique_ aura, they haven't been around the Forsaken as much as I," she said matter-of-factly. I was surprised she was even speaking to me this much. I would be lying if I didn't feel a wave of relief filter through me briefly at her assumptions.

"Why are you with them anyway? It doesn't really fit your…style," I asked, poking at our dying fire with a stray stick. She simply regarded me.

"'My style'?"

"Yes- you're quite, well, prissy. They're…_not_." I thought back to how savagely Zul'khar ate his meat or Gresh'na walked around in blood-spattered clothing, or even Balija's barbaric way of killing something. "You just seem like you'd prefer to be wearing fine, expensive clothes sipping wine rather than trudging around in the mud, is all," I indicated to her own fancy garment, her black stole a still hanging straight and true, not out of place despite the grief it underwent through today's mission and its inferno location. I had observed each one of them for a while on our journey today with bored interest. Lynara was very cautious about where she stood, what she became involved in as well as being highly opinionated about everything from her food to what style her hair was worn in that day. Loudly she had protested at some of the more dirt-ridden paths we had wanted to take today insisting her flimsy shoes would get wet and she would catch a cold and then where would that leave them? Despite Balija claiming leadership of the odd band, Lynara tended to dictate most of it to her whims.

"I like them," she replied simply. I waited for her to elaborate but nothing came.

"That's it?"

"Yes."

Finding there was little I could do to coax it out of her, I fell silent. Stubborn in a similar sense to Luciya, I found that she would only say something if she wanted to, not because she would be tricked or goaded into it much to my displeasure. Cunning people like her tended to be smart enough to avoid the tricky questions and I disliked that immensely, it was like she could see exactly where I was trying to lead her and refused to follow, simple throwing my off track instead.

"And you? What brings you to the murky lands that is the South of Northrend?"

"I-" I started. What do I say? "I am involved with the plague development," I decided on, expressing an ambiguity that could no doubt match Bart or Ryndan, I thought proudly.

"I see." Why did she have to sound so unimpressed?

"Do you perhaps not agree with the plague?" I ventured.

"I am unconcerned by it. If it kills the Scourge then I support it wholeheartedly. I will just leave it to those in the know. It has little to do with me." Her whole stature suddenly reminded me of that Ashwood woman the night I was excommunicated from the Argent Crusade. The only-my-opinion-matters-and-there's-nothing-you-ca n-do-to-change-it attitude was evident not only in her strong voice but also in her straight, unwavering posture and general facial expression. This woman exuberated confidence that I had no hope of achieving, and there was something admirable about that- no matter how much her manner annoyed me.

Deciding to take a risk, I stood on thin fjord ice and asked, "suppose it's for more than the Scourge. Suppose it's made to be effective against any enemy? Any _living _enemy. Would you still support it then?"

"Suppose it is able to kill anyone. Suppose the Society take it further than the Scourge. Suppose earthroot grows out of your nostrils and you fall up into the sky," she obscurely countered without even seeming surprised at my line of questioning.

"Does that not concern you? The idea that the Forsaken could just up and use this on whomever they wanted?"

"I am just one person, a mere priest, Cersae. Whatever it is I feel there would be little I could do to change it against a force so large as the Apothecary Society."

"Do you really believe that?" I asked cynically. She wouldn't just lay down like that, would she? It seemed extremely uncharacteristic for her royal prissiness.

"Do you?" She stood up and stretched up high, giving an unfeminine groan as she did, her actions granted me the chance to notice how long her body truly was from this angle. Straight and flat on all visible planes there was very little womanly curving offered. I supposed I looked like that too with proper weight gain on my poor skeleton such was our biology- having noticed similar thin and lean frames from some of the elven woman amongst the Crusade.

Nodding me a goodnight she went away to lay down, our conversation finished. What did she mean by that –'Do you?' Did she really believe that she couldn't do anything? Surely not, though. She was stubborn enough to tell us what to do so surely she could get her point across with enough force or cunning, even in her case.

Watching the three sleeping bodies and sat in a dull silence, the fjords offering little to aid my loneliness. After a small while, the northern wilderness returned Gresh'na to us, firewood in tow before she divested of most of her armour and curled up under her rough furskin for warmth without any word to me. Clearly I was on watch tonight. Left alone to my thoughts I kept an ear out for any intruders, the nocturnal creatures of the fjords my only company. Stiff and bored being left to my own devices I tended to the fire for a while, it content to sizzle out through the night into a puff of smoke. I felt like it- all passion and burning to begin with but as time here drew on I felt myself dwindling and fading into the surroundings, nothing keeping me stoked or being tended to. I envied these four. For all their disorganisation and mish-mash when it came to executing plans, they were a lively bunch who trusted each other to watch their backs. The Crusade was similar, not wanting to leave anyone behind where possible- taking sometimes fatal risks to aid a fallen comrade. We Death Knights certainly held no such philosophies. If you fall behind, you are left there to rot or get back up, no one to help you.

I found a small comfort in the idea, relying on nobody but oneself. Others can disappoint or betray you, letting someone else rid of your presence without even trying to stall- whereas you cannot betray yourself. For all these four were 'protecting' me, they would leave me behind also. I decided not to care about it, once this business was over I could go back to finding Edmund. He had weighed heavily on my mind the first couple of days after leaving the Crusade, floating in and out of my lucid thoughts, his mouth moving but the words not reaching my senses. How I longed to hear him again, his deep voice rising and falling with excitement and disappointment when explaining alchemic results, or describing the properties of a new herb to come across my studies. How I loved listening to him explain _Manigut's Six Spagyric Laws_ or _Seraphime's Principle_, _Ephraim's Laws_ or even _Philpott's Transmutation Equations_. With a fondness, I recalled our late hours at night hunched over an old book, squinting in the poor light to discover something alchemically new. How patiently he explained them to me! He likened it to cooking sometimes despite knowing I was useless at such things!

A loud snore snapped me from my thoughts and I realised I was smiling. I saw the shadowy outline of Zul'khar, probably, shift and turn on his mat, settling back again into peace. Content he was staying asleep my eyes drifted around what little scenery I could see this night- next to nothing. And then my eyes fell upon the quarry of today's efforts. Grimacing I shifted over to the sodden thick cloak holding the encased slaughtered. I needed to decide what I was going to report back about the effects of the plague. They took nearly three times what I should have sprayed on them so I prepared myself for some extra-gruesome findings. Bucking up the courage to observe the effects of the toxin I donned my thick-hide gloves and untied the knot, allowing the blanket to fall away.

What I saw was definitely _not_ what I expected.

"Oh this is not good."

* * *

_The Next Day._

"What?! No, this can't be right._ CURSES!_"

I watched as Tillinghast marched around in a stomping circle, clearly displeased with the results of the testing. Upon our return to New Agamand earlier today I alone had taken the 'specimens' straight to the Plaguebringer who charged us with this task. My uncertainty of what to report back to him cleared up quite quickly upon last night's revelations and turned out to be for the better, as the current temper tantrum in front of me was demonstrating.

"This batch of the plague doesn't seem to have had any real effect on the proto-whelps at all other than to make them glow green!" He shouted, to no one in particular. There were no other people near us as this fit of his kicked off, others looking at it from a far (and safe) distance or just ignoring him completely. I stayed decidedly quiet as he worked through this. With the lack of real results, the plague development was now held back and luckily it was bad enough that he didn't care about only dumping it on three whelplings instead of ten.

"My dream of using the plague upon anything we come into contact with seems to have gone up in smoke! Damnable creatures! It's not like they had a vaccine or immunity against the plague- they weren't even freshly hatched!" He ranted. Quite happy with my work I slowly stepped backwards in an effort to get away while he dealt with his failure- before my arm was roughly grabbed.

"Wait! That gives me an idea! What if it didn't kill the whelps because it was sprayed on the outside of their eggs?!" His rotted face was leaning in quite close, a twisted grin deforming his expression further. I mentally berated myself for not thinking of that- of course the eggs would have provided protection, possibly even absorbed some of it- who knew what the shells were made of? _Stupid!_ It was too late to change my story now, if he thought I had sprayed them on directly in the first place then his excitement would deflate immediately.

"We have to get the plague inside of them…but how, let me think." Letting me go he started mumbling again to himself one skeletal finger tapping his chin and waving around in the air at each passing idea he came up with. Bemused and slightly disturbed I watched on, hoping he couldn't come up with anything now realising my faux pas in regards to

"I know! We'll immerse some meat into the plague solution and feed it to them directly! You, girl! Take the plagued meat to the Ember Clutch and get them to eat it- then we'll see the proper results!" He spoke fast and sloppily, his decaying features unable to keep up with his flurry of talking. "Of course the younger ones don't have as much mass to absorb it…still thinking too small…Yes! That's it! Let's get one of the proto-drakes flying overhead to come down and eat it! That'll give us true results!" he laughed maniacally, evidently pleased with his progress. Cackling away he dismissed me to come back once he had soaked the meat. It wasn't long until I found Mort skulking about the place.

"Successful venture?" He questioned, not even a 'hello', 'how are you' or 'good to see you came back alive from the fiery deathtrap'.

"I think so, but I think I messed up the results report," I told him consciously. Concern folding his face, he pulled me away from the 'town centre' away from prying eyes or ears.

"Explain."

"Well, the results weren't great- they just turned the drakes green, but I should have thought more carefully about it. I thought that this was a huge setback for them but from an alchemist's point of view of course a negative result is still a result, isn't it?" I explained. He nodded sternly, urging me to continue. "Now he's on a different track knowing that the plague isn't effective on living creatures- or drakes anyway. Why is he so concerned about the drakes in the first place though?"

"Because most likely anything that can kill a hardy and thick-skinned drake with little effort will topple something like a tauren effortlessly, I'd reckon. We're quite cunning like that I'm afraid."

"But why a tauren? I thought they were all a part of the same Horde?"

"Aye, you're right, but you and I know they want this plague to be capable of killing _anything_. The bigger your target is, the more you'll need or the deadlier it'll have to be. It just wouldn't surprise me that they're covering all potential bases, including drakes too," he said grimly.

"That's…rather harsh. Um, but yeah, if I had thought about lying about it being successful then he would go on thinking that the plague worked and a nullified version would be implemented, right?" I was so chagrined I hadn't thought of this last night with all the time I had. I was so elated that at first glance there was nothing wrong with the drakes, but my alchemic knowledge was near non-existent so for all I could report there was nothing, other apothecaries would comment on something I had missed as a novice.

"No, I'm afraid they'd do multiple testing on other targets to make sure. One set of results isn't enough to go on- you need definitive proof before implanting something as expensive as this damnable plague."

"So…I couldn't do anything about it either way then?"

"Not directly, no."

"Then- then why did you say I had to alter the results? You said it was down to me to make the right choice!" I cried exasperatedly at him, he didn't look surprised at my outburst much to my flaring anger.

"I wanted to see what you would do, where your loyalties and morals lay," he said deadpanned.

"Are you _serious_? Mort, I am getting so _sick _of your toying with me- if you want me to do something, just tell me! I am not in the mind for any of your games!"

"I had to make sure. You've not been the same since you were turned and I didn't know if I could trust you with this yet."

I stared at this man I dared to call friend. This was Mort, my mentor, my guide and only family I knew of. What few memories I recalled before my Turning- he was there with Edmund, laughing and joking, teasing and teaching. And now that same man was saying he didn't trust me. My thoughts last night dwelled on self-independence without relying on anyone and now I saw that anyone also included the one person I thought was looking out for me. In one moment my world became less shades of grey and more black and white.

"You should rest up, it seems you have to head back out, do you not? I left a couple more books that I found in your room, take some time to read them carefully to see if you can't remember anything yet," he finished, stalking away with his head held high.

Later, sitting on my bed at night I picked up one of the new residents in my little hole of a room. The cover was unnamed and unmarked, the binding familiar and comforting in my hands and opened the pages. Come early morning I had made the decision not to tell Mort that not only had I read and remembered this book from before, but also combined with my fresher memories of Edmund's alchemic teachings on the trail I had recalled my alchemy to the point of contradicting the book's theories and making sense of my journal notes wholly and clearly.

I was only going to let myself be used for so long, it was time to take charge of this by myself.

* * *

A/N- Writer's block is gone. I know _exactly_ what the next few chapters entail and will publish them posthaste.


End file.
